Cry Wolf
by Lady Black Mage
Summary: TB! Jeanette Harker is a young librarian who just wants a simple life in Gotham. Lance Pendragon is a business rival of Bruce Wayne's with a dark, secret past. But after Jeanette's chance encounter with Joker, the two wind up on a spiraling train of events that threatens to take away their normal lives forever. WARNING! Contains: Language, altering 1st person narratives, OCs, etc.
1. Chapter 1: Just Another Day?

A/N: I do not own The Batman, Batman: the Animated Series, DC Batman or anything of the sort in any way, shape, or form.** WARNING: This fanfiction contains the following-Language, violence, mild canon-crossing elements, alternating first-person-view narratives, severe fancharacter/OCxCanon/OCxOC use. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of that, this is not the fanfic for you. NOTE: This fanfiction is a companion to my other "The Batman" fanfic, "Twisted Souls." I highly recommend you read both fanfics as they will connect and overlap in some places and events.** Finally, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first.

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Chapter One: Just Another Day?

[Jeanette's POV:]

How many people do you know have alarm clocks that play the theme from Happy Days when they're set to go off? Well, if you didn't know any before, the count just totaled 1. And trust me, nothing wakes you up in the morning quite like a rousing chorus going "We'll make you hap-pyyy…" The only reason I've kept the clock is because it works and at least it wakes me up with the expectation that every day can be a good one.

So when a bad day comes along, I just have to resist the urge to take a sledgehammer to that stupid clock.

I'd been in the middle of a really odd dream that I couldn't quite remember when it started to play again, and I woke up, rubbing my eyes tiredly before fumbling around to find the 'off' switch. My hand found my glasses instead, and I hurriedly shoved them onto my face, the world coming into focus as I finally turned the clock off.

O blessed silence!

I pushed myself out of bed and swayed on my feet a bit, trying to remember what day it was. Friday…or was it Saturday? It was Saturday, I decided. The library opens earlier on a Saturday, meaning I have to be there by 9:30 to help set up before the patrons come in. I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen to prepare my breakfast, noticing three unheard messages on my voicemail machine. I pressed play and shuffled to the fridge, pulling out a carton of skim milk.

_"Jeanette?"_ my mother's voice came from the speakerphone first, "_It's your mother. Listen dear, I was just calling to check up on you, see how you're doing. You hardly ever call me any more and I get so worried, what with you being holed up in Gotham City. I just saw the news recently and it was featuring something about that wretched Penguin attacking the west side. That's not too far from where you live, isn't it?"_

It's on the opposite end of the city, mother. I decided to heck with it and just took a drink from the carton. No one else I know who even bothers to come visit drinks skim milk anyway.

_"Anyway, give me a call back soon, honey. I miss you."_

Yeah, right.

The first message ended and the second started up.

_"Miss Harker? This is Sky Reichied, from Blockbuster Video."_

He sounded a little uncertain, like he wasn't sure where he worked, but my heart skipped a beat anyway. The really cute Cherokee employee from Blockbuster? What was he calling me for?

_"I just noticed that you've got an overdue video that needs to be returned. I believe it says here…" _There was a pause and I heard the sound of a keyboard being consulted, _"It's a DVD copy of 'Gosfield Park'? Anyhow, if you would just return that to us as soon as possible, it would be most appreciated. Thank you!"_

Oh, it figures! Even now it's still Michelle who gets all the masculine attention, not me.

Not that one has any bitter feelings still left to smolder.

The third message began.

_"Hey Jeanette? It's Heidi, and I need you to do me a really really big favor! I know you're probably sick of the library and all that—ha ha, I know I am!—but I need you to pick up my Monday shift, if that's okay."_

Heidi, you may be my friend, but honestly, someone who doesn't like working at the library? I'm not sure how we became friends in the first place.

_"You'll do it, right?"_

But of course!

_"Oh, please say you will! Give me a call on my cell phone to let me know! Sorry, and thanks!"_

The machine beeped and set to work erasing all the messages as I poured the milk into a bowl of Cheerios and dug in. My mother still disapproves of my eating habits, but she's not here, so she can't complain. I walked over to the mini-whiteboard on the side of my fridge, uncapped the dry erase marker, and made a note of what I had to do. Return the DVD to Blockbuster and pick up Heidi's Monday shift.

I do NOT consider calling my mother a mandatory thing, so it doesn't get written down EVER.

I finished off my Cheerios with less enthusiasm than you see in the commercials, dumped the dishes in my sink, and raced back upstairs to get ready. I didn't get a shower, since I took them at night, so all I really needed was to put up my hair, get dressed, and put on a light layer of make-up. I don't care for the latter at all, but a little foundation, blush, and eyeshadow never hurt anyone, and it didn't make me Michelle. God knows I always hated how she would slather make-up on as we were growing up. It looked like she was attempting to paint herself with colored mud, but somehow she was considered 'gorgeous' in high school. Even to this day, it STILL makes no sense in my mind. But hey, that's high school.

I selected pastels to wear and since it was early summer, so I could get away with wearing my favorite pair of sandals to work.

"Miss Harker, I daresay I find you remarkably attractive this fine day!" I laughed at myself in the mirror as I pulled my hair up into a ponytail.

That there? Just me daydreaming. No guy in his right mind would go for a four-eyed, Shakespeare and Austen-quoting, pottery and cooking-obsessed bibliomaniac who worked as a children's librarian.

But hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

A vase reflected in my mirror caught my attention and I turned to look at it, smiling with pride. It was one of my first vases I sculpted when I entered my program for my Associate's in pottery, and I loved it so. I'd painted a scene from my favorite fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast, on its side, and I kept it in my bathroom just to remind me that some day, maybe some day, I'd find someone for me.

But more likely than not, I would just end up selling this vase before too long. I'd sold a lot of my other pieces so far. Sooner or later I would just have to give up this nonsense.

For the time being though, I could allow myself to dream.

I gave the vase one last smile and left the bathroom, pulling my sandals on and digging for my purse in the mess of books that's always cluttering up the mythical floor my bedroom supposedly has. Generally I've kept my townhouse spotless, but I never seem to be able to get the books back on their shelves in my own abode. I think my coworkers would have kittens about it if they ever decided to drop in on me.

Finally I located my purse and my keys and dashed from my townhouse, locking up on my way out to my car. The Neon purred like a cat when I started her up and pulled out, heading to the library.

I was halfway there when I got a call on my cell phone from Marcia, who pleaded with me to pick up some coffee. There's a Starbucks on the way to work, and if my coworkers manage to catch me before I drive by it, I usually get bullied into stopping there before I come in. I don't mind too much though, because they pay me back when I get to work, but I try to avoid making that stop if I'm able.

"Oh, come on, Jay, please!" Marcia pleaded, "Chantelle's in one of her moods this morning, you've just GOT to pick up some coffee!"

"Marcia, sweetie," I chuckled dryly, "Have you ever tried just suggesting that Chantelle bring in her own coffee-maker one of these days?"

"Have _you_?" she shot back.

Chantelle's our supervisor, and the way she runs the place, you'd think we were all seamen and the library was our Navy ship. You have to get used to Chantelle before you can learn to tell apart her moods, of which there are ever only three: amused, bored, or pissed off. And trust me, it takes a while to work out which is which. But when Chantelle is pissed, the best way to placate her is with a mocha frapp.

I should know. I've had to pick them up for her plenty of times.

Which is why the second I walked into the Starbucks, the guy at the counter waved at me.

"Hey, hey, Jeanette!" he called. "Nice to see you again!"

"Hey, Bradley!" I called back with a smile, and he grinned around his lip piercing. Bradley was not my type—he still looks like he's not graduated from his Hot Topic-going, pierced and tattooed punk phase—but he's a nice enough guy once you get to know him, and really friendly.

Plus he knows my order front to back and in reversed mirror image.

"Three mocha frapps, a venti doubleshot with mint, and a Chai latte with extra foam?" he asked sweetly, raising a pierced eyebrow at me.

"You've got it, Brad!" I chuckled, digging through my purse.

"Comin' right up!" he said enthusiastically, grabbing an assortment of cups from underneath his side of the counter. I fumbled in my purse a moment, trying to find my debit card as Bradley spoke with another customer. I love my purse and all, but sometimes the blasted thing is like a miniature Bermuda Triangle I just carry on my person. Finally, I found the card I needed and held it out, only to have Bradley wave me off.

"I uh…I'm not sure how to tell you this, Jeanette," he said with a weak chuckle, and pointed toward the door, "But, uh…he just paid for your order."

I spun around, and saw a figure disappearing out the door, a tall man with long hair slicked back on his head, wearing a very expensive looking Italian suit.

"Oh, no!" I gasped in horror, running. I don't accept free handouts, ever, and I couldn't just let him—

"You're not going to make it, you know." Brad remarked. "He's too fast."

I threw the door open anyway, but to my astonishment, he was right: the man had disappeared like a phantasm.

"How dare he…the nerve of that man!" I spluttered in anger.

"That's just what he does." Bradley remarked.

"Brad, you know that person?" I asked, rounding on him.

"Hey, chill hon! I don't _know him_ know him. He's an infrequent regular, so I don't even know his name, and he always gets something different…But he said to tell you if you had any objections that he thought you were, um…" he snickered and blushed, " 'A beautiful desert rose in an otherwise colorless and disheartening urban wasteland.'"

"You're kidding me, right?" I scoffed at him. No man would _ever_ say that about _me._

"You could have just yelled 'thank you' and he might have turned around, you know." Bradley said simply, and I fell silent. Why hadn't I just been able to accept that?

Simple. Because Jeanette Marie Harker refuses to be treated like a begging homeless wench!

Mind you, my coworkers laughed at me when I told them.

"Why can't you just accept that someone did something nice and thoughtful for you and move on?" Leslie laughed. Leslie's a sweet girl, and her round cheeks are always pink and smiling, just on the verge of a giggle.

"Because!" I answered in a somewhat shrill voice, "It's just not right!"

"But it was a nice gesture!" Marcia protested, "Not a lot of people do nice things like that these days!"

"He still could have hung around for me to thank him!" I muttered.

"You mean, for you to nag him and talk him out of doing it," Heidi scoffed at me, "Please, Jeanette! Don't be such a prude!"

"I'm not a prude!" I protested, feeling my cheeks go pink as I sipped at my frappucino.

"If you are all quite done gossiping?" came Chantelle's cold voice, and I nearly jumped. I looked up at her, forbidding as ever with her high blonde bun and hawk-like eyes and swallowed. Even with her frappucino, she was still testy today. We all went silent as the grave as we looked up at her, feeling rather silly and childish. "Good. Now, regardless of who bought who coffee, we need to open. Miss Harker, if you would attend to the locks, please?"

She handed me the set of keys and for a moment, I was stunned. First some mystery man buys me the coffee, and now CHANTELLE is letting me unlock the doors?

Surely this wasn't just another ordinary day.

"Come on then, hurry up!" Chantelle snapped, and I jumped to my feet, taking the keys and strolling out to the front doors.

Maybe the morning was just off to a weird start and I was being paranoid because I don't like my routine disrupted.

Yes, the bibliomaniac imagining things. It made sense.

But as it turned out, I wasn't.

Less than three feet from the first set of double doors, my vision exploded in a flash of light and color and I was flung backwards off my feet. My glasses nearly came off my face as I landed hard on my side, and I gritted my teeth with pain as I tried to readjust them on my face. A high laugh, somewhere caught between that of a mischievous child and an evil demon, pierced the smoke and falling debris, making me shudder.

"My, what a drag! Don't you people know you open right during the middle of Saturday morning cartoons? Think about what you're doing to all the poor kiddies, preventing them from rotting their brains!" the laughing voice said in a menacing way, and my heart began to pound in fear. No! It _couldn't_ be!

"Punch, Judy? I think we need to give this old place a makeover, don't you agree?" the Joker cackled as he stepped into my view, green dreadlocks, red eyes, and all. I coughed as I got to my feet and froze in horror at the sight of a flamethrower in his hands, painted to look like a smile.

NO!

My books! My library! My job!

_Joker was going to torch the Gotham City library!_


	2. Chapter 2: Well, That Was Dumb

Chapter Two: Well, That Was Dumb

[Jeanette's POV:]

Now, I'm not stupid by any standards, thank you very much. I pride myself on my intelligence, perhaps to the point my ego's slightly bigger than it ought to be. But at that moment, with the Joker threatening to burn down the place I loved most and perform an act rarely heard of since the Nazi reign, my protective instinct kicked in and caused me to do something very stupid.

Chantelle and the girls came running into the lobby and promptly screamed, practically losing their heads at the sight of Joker and his two cronies. I on the other hand, scrambled to my feet and stumbled my way back behind the return counter. Very little glass and debris had fallen back here, but I still stepped gingerly because of my sandals as I picked my way to the large cart of returned items that we had yet to shelve. I stood shakily, grabbing a paperback Danielle Steel novel, muttered a quick prayer for forgiveness for what I was about to do, and chucked the book at the henchman nearest to me. It only bounced off his shoulder and he paused, turning to blink at me in surprise.

"GET OUT OF HERE, YOU MONSTERS!" I screamed, grabbing two more paperbacks and throwing them at him. "LEAVE US ALONE!"

An Anne Perry mystery and a Chicken Soup collection. I winced as they bounced off him too. I seemed to have garnered his twin's attention too, as the other huge man turned and blinked as well, though his face twisted in an ugly scowl, only made worse by his unsightly stubble. I reached for another book as the Joker turned, also looking a little confused, and barely registered that this one was a hardback as I let it fly from my hand. Then I realized what I'd thrown.

Christopher Paolini's _Eragon_. I sucked in my breath and time seemed to slow down. I've been clocked in the back of the head with a copy of that book before. Terrible composition and poor sentence structure, with a mesh of ideas stolen from Anne McCaffrey and the Star Wars movies, hefty for a first novel written by a fifteen-year-old. Let me tell you, _Eragon_ is painful on one's head in several ways, but it hurts the most when you're literally hit with it.

It caught Joker just beneath his eye and I heard a distinct, fleshy CRACK! as he recoiled from the hit. He turned back to me hissing, murder in his expression, blood pouring from his broken nose and welling up in the welt under his eye.

"Oops." was all I managed to squeak out.

"_Jeanette_!" I heard several of my coworkers shriek.

"You are one of the most stupid people I've EVER had welcome me anywhere!" Joker snarled, his red eyes boring into me, and my insides frosted over with the ice of fearful despair. "Punch, Judy! How about you get started in the munchkin's hole while I teach Miss Four-Eyes here some manners?"

Oh, _hell_!

I started to back up, barely registering the screams of my coworkers or the disappearances of the two goons down the juvenile wing or the wall of shelves I backed into. Those terrible red eyes were taking up my entire range of vision, silently promising me horror beyond my imagination.

_Right then, Miss Harker_, I thought with a bitter irony_, That was one of the most brainless things you've done in your life._

He drew closer and closer, and I tried to grope around for something to hit him with, but I maintained eye contact. Maybe he wouldn't notice if I kept looking straight at him.

That, it seemed, was useless. He noticed right away and his hand shot out and squeezed my wrist before I could even properly get something in my grip.

"You know, you're probably the most stupid woman I've ever met for someone who makes a living being a bookworm." he growled, his red eyes narrowing, "_No _one_ ever _hits me_, EVER!_"

"Looks like you need to reevaluate your studies, then," I managed to muster up some bravado to throw back at him, "Because I just did!"

Okay, I admit it, that was not the smartest thing I could have said after blacking his eye. He snarled in anger, whipping me around by my wrist, which felt like it was going to pop right out of its socket, and threw me over the counter. For a second that seemed to last forever, I was flying, then I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked right out of me. My shoulders were definitely going to be bruised black and blue before the day was out.

"Ah, ah, ah!" the Joker scolded me in a singsong voice, "You should know better, Miss Four-Eyes." He jumped over the counter, and pointed the flamethrower's nozzle directly at my face. My heart began to pound frantically, my skin broke out in a cold sweat.

"No talking in the library!" he yelled, his voice dropping back down to its demonic tones.

I rolled out of the way just in time before the flames hit me. I felt searing heat behind me, and I rolled a bit more, hoping to snuff any of the fire that might have caught at my clothes. Thankfully, it turned out I wasn't burning. Joker began cackling wildly and I struggled to my feet, then immediately wished I was dreaming.

Fire was already beginning to race up one of the walls, the flames licking hungrily at a bookcase like a dehydrated man at a water fountain.

"NO!" I screamed, surging to my feet, but I was too late to keep the books I'd thrown at Joker from being devoured by the growing blaze. This was all of my worst nightmares coming true at once.

Then, as if by some miracle, the sprinkler system came on. Tiny jets of water struck my face and bounced off my glasses as they quenched the fire's thirst.

"WHAT?" Joker screamed, looking scandalized. "You're kidding me! Of all the places to have a flame-retardant system that's not retarded!"  
"Looks like your plan is all washed up, Joker." came a new voice, and I froze on the spot. There he was, stepping through the smoke like an overgrown shadow, outfitted in armor made from black Kevlar. I'd heard he was terrifying, ruthless, cunning, able to strike fear in the hearts of criminals with his appearance alone.

I'd never heard he was given to spitting out bad puns.

Call me faithless or say I was having a bad day, but the appearance of the Batman after _that_ terrible one-liner did _not_ fill me with relief.

Joker's face twisted in a brief snarl, then he suddenly grinned bigger than before, and pointed the flamethrower at Batman, who pulled up his cape faster than I could register, repelling the flames easily. On and on the sprinklers continued to pump out water, but neither of them seemed to care, their battle turning into an elaborate dance that seemed to range all over. Suddenly the two henchmen burst back into the room, and raced over to join the fray. Batman was outnumbered, and I felt sinking despair in my chest. I could only crouch where I was, shaking all over, the water plastering my clothes to my skin, my vision blurred. What was I supposed to…?

Something caught my eye. _Eragon_. The image of the dragon on the dust jacket was charred black and cracking, but otherwise it seemed mostly intact. I knew what I could do to help.

Batman spun around, aiming a high kick at one of them, the sole of his combat boot connecting with a sickening crunch, and the guy went flying backwards off his feet. The second one grabbed Batman from behind, catching him under his arms, holding him tight as the Joker approached them both.

I got to my feet and took pains to inch my way toward them as quietly as I was able, scooping _Eragon_ off the floor, the cover crackling slightly under my touch, but it was otherwise silent.

"Thank you, Judy," Joker was saying happily, "You know, Batsy, you really rain on my parade sometimes, but I'm willing to book some time this week to dance, just you and me."

Joker, the fire, the ruined copies of the books, the sprinkler, my wet clothes, the message from my mother, the lack of a love life, the mysterious guy who bought my coffee…I'd thought before that I was having a bad day!

But the bad puns really set it off!

Before any of the three knew what was happening, I raised _Eragon_ as high as I was able and brought it down with a WHOMP on the back of Joker's head. His shoulders hiked right up to his ears and he slowly rotated on the spot to glare at me, only to have his eyes roll up in the back of his head as he swayed uneasily. Batman and Judy could only stare, stunned as I backed up, giving Joker room to fall forward. I blinked, not completely believing what I'd just done, and looked up at Batman, hoping he'd say something.

He swung his legs up over his head and flipped completely over, kicking Judy in the face, and sending him flying back onto his twin. Batman landed easily, as though it was nothing, glanced down at Joker, then looked me in the eye.

"Nice hit." was all he said. "_Eragon_ makes for a good missile weapon, too."

"What, that's it?" I shrieked, furious. "The least you could do is say 'thank you!'"

He ignored me, tying the Joker's hands behind his back before moving over to the Punch and Judy twins, cuffing them to each other.

"The police will be here soon, Miss Harker." he went on casually, like we were discussing the details of a luncheon. "Once they're finished questioning you, you ought to go home and relax. Try to forget what happened here if you can."

"You're kidding me, right?" I snorted, hardly noticing that Chantelle and the girls were coming out of their hiding places, pale-faced and shaken. "I'm going to be lucky if that maniac—" I pointed to the Joker, taking a few steps back from him, "—doesn't decide to kill me in my sleep when he wakes up and escapes from Arkham again!"

Batman stood abruptly and advanced on me, making me let out a frightened squeak as I backed up. He towered above most normal people, practically looming over me as he looked me in the eyes, his expression hard as stone.

"I'm not going to let that happen, Miss Harker!" he said in a growl. I swallowed hard, and said nothing as he glared at me a moment longer. Finally, when it seemed neither of us had anything more to say, he turned and hoisted the unconscious Crime Clown to his feet, making him stir.

"I don't wanna blow up the docks yet, mummy…" he murmured, "Five more minuuutesss…"

The Dark Knight tied his foe up to the henchman, and raced out the door, disappearing only seconds before the GCPD arrived on the scene. They came surging through the door, and I knew it was inevitable that they would start questioning me.

But I still just stood there, not completely reassured the Bat would protect me from Joker, and still seething because he'd never given me a proper thank-you.


	3. Chapter 3: Mr Pendragon

A/N: To the wary reader be warned! It has long been a staple of Lance's character that he is a bit of a romantic and a Shakespeare fan, so he throws the thee's, thou's, and thine's, etc. around in his speech patterns everywhere. Just a heads-up.

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Chapter Three: The Insufferable, Unswayable Mr. Pendragon

[Jeanette's POV:]

To date, that had been the worst day of my entire life, and being drilled with questions by Chief Angel Rojas had done nothing to help. At least Detective Yin had been both polite and understanding, if a bit brisk and professional. I decided that I liked her, as far as cops went.

Rojas?

Let's just say that the battered, scarred _hardback_ copy of _Eragon_ I'd hit Joker with now is permanently blood-stained on one corner. I'm amazed that they didn't arrest me for attacking an officer, but then I think Detective Yin's talk about post-traumatic stress may have had a hand in that. Some time after that, I'm not entirely sure how long the interrogation went on for, but some time after that, I remember suddenly being back in my townhouse, locking all the doors and windows, pulling the blinds shut and wrapping myself up in a blanket. I curled up on the couch, too shaken by the morning's events to read or eat or do much of anything, too frightened to fall asleep.

_"No one ever hits me, EVER!"_

The words replayed themselves over and over in my mind as I sat trembling, pulling my blanket tighter and tighter around my person, like a scared little kid hiding from the monsters under the bed.

Joker was going to be pissed off as hell, and I had the sickening feeling he'd want revenge.

_But he's the Joker. Why would he worry about something petty like revenge over something as small as being clocked wi—_

Oh, what the hell am I thinking? I'm going to be lucky if Batman holds his promise well enough that I don't end up with a permanent grin on my face! I should have just left well enough alone. I should have slunk to the phone instead and called the police, but I had to let my temper get the better of me.

Angry, frightened, and anxious, I sat on the couch a long time before I finally passed out and fell asleep.

_I was running from something I couldn't see, desperately trying to keep from stumbling. All around me there was maniacal laughter, high-pitched and childlike. The Joker's laugh. Behind me there were running footfalls, coming closer and closer._

_ Ahead of me there was a rope bridge, the kind you see in movies like Pirates of the Caribbean or Indiana Jones, stretched out over a vast, bottomless chasm. The only way to get away from my pursuer was over the bridge. It creaked and swayed ominously as I came close to it, and my heart fell somewhere around the region of my stomach when I stepped onto the first board and the bridge swung and dipped. However, it held fast, and I took a few more tentative steps across before daring to glance over my shoulder._

_ "Don't do it, Miss Harker!" Batman yelled, stretching an arm out to me._

_ Batman?_

_ Why was I running from him?_

_ I took a few more steps and turned to face him, trembling._

_ "Y-you said you weren't going to let J-Joker hurt me!" my words fell from my mouth clumsily, and I sounded like a terrified child. "How do you expect me to believe you're going to keep your promise when you're always running around saving Gotham? You're not my personal savior!"_

_ "She's right you know, Batsy!" Came a gleefully manic giggle, and I spun, looking toward the other end of the bridge. Joker stepped on, making it sway again, and I reached out to grab the ropes and steady myself, my heart pounding like crazy. "You can' t save them all!"_

_ "Joker! Leave her alone, or I'll—"_

_ "You'll what, Batsy? I've set up twenty dispensers of Joker gas, rigged to release their chuckle-inducing contents upon all of the more important buildings around Gotham. Like city hall, for example! Just think about all the changes that can take place once I've got a smile and nod from the big wigs!" he said with a low, evil chuckle, and my heart sank. Of course._

_ "So what's it going to be, Batsy?" Joker asked, finally within arm's reach. "You going to save the city, or are you going to sacrifice them all for the neck of one scrawny, ill-mannered librarian?"_

_ Batman stared at us both, and I knew he was weighing something in that mind of his. I had a feeling I knew which he'd choose, and frankly, despite how scared I was, I couldn't blame him in the least._

_ "Too late, it's our time!" Joker suddenly cackled, and the boards shifted beneath my feet, turning to books. Joker pulled a lighter out of his purple suit, flicking it on, and letting the tiny flame dance over the ropes. "We're burning bridges with you, Guano Man!"_

I retracted my hands, turning back desperately toward Batman, but the fire was quicker and ate through the ropes, scorching the books beneath my feet and suddenly I was falling…

I woke with a jump, my heart racing, and I realized I'd broken out into a cold sweat. I was still in the living room, tangled in my blanket, and night had fallen outside. Shivering, I fought my way out of the blanket and rearranged it on my person, then shuffled into my kitchen. Hoping a glass of water would help, I fumbled in my cabinets for a moment, then moved to the sink. I had just turned on the faucet and thrown back the curtains for some light when something outside caught my eye. A vague shadow was moving across the ground outside, and I froze, heart pounding. It had to be an animal, whatever it was, but it was large, and I began to suspect the worst. Slowly, I turned off the faucet and set down the glass, moving around to the back door and peeking out of it. For a moment, my heart was still beating frantically, and then I saw them.

Deer. A stag, a doe, and three little fawns.

I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, chuckling a little at how silly I was being. I watched them dart across the grass, so elegant and graceful, and then it came into view, just visible in the moonlight.

A wolf, huge and black as midnight. It was following the deer, crouching with its belly on the grass, and I suddenly wished the deer could move faster. I'd had no idea that there were still wolves running around in this area of Gotham! I had to call animal control or something…

I took a step back and the wolf froze, standing straight up, and looked directly at me. For a long moment, neither of us moved, then it came loping up toward the steps under the door. I knew it couldn't get in but I still felt highly vulnerable. Guess that's part of that post-traumatic stress again. But thankfully, the animal stopped a few feet short of the steps and just watched me. It was, I had to admit, strikingly beautiful in a way, and I found I couldn't just leave. I'm not sure how much time passed as I stood there, just watching the wolf, but finally I told myself I needed to get back to sleep, and I took a few steps back from the door. The wolf pricked its ears forward, then back and turned, slinking away into the night. Sighing, I forgot about getting a drink and just decided to retire to my room.

I really needed the sleep, more than ever.

The next morning I went back to the library, hoping to help out. Joker had managed to damage very little of the books (mostly it was just the doors and walls that needed replaced,) but there were still several shelves of books that needed to be replaced, since the sprinklers had ruined them. And of course, regardless of my fear of heights, Chantelle had nominated me for the task of going around and retrieving the books that needed replacing and taking note of them. A repair crew arrived shortly, dedicating their attention to working on the doors and walls, (rather loudly, might I add.) Police were stationed outside to ensure safety, but I had the feeling that none of our patrons were going to come back immediately after what happened yesterday. In a couple more days perhaps, but certainly not today, which meant I'd be going home early.

I'd gotten through one bookcase, pulling off all of the top shelf items and tossing them into the bin on the floor next to the ladder, when I heard Heidi squeal the name, "BRUCE WAYNE!"

Oh, nice. It figures. What's the jet-setting playboy billionaire doing here?

I climbed down the ladder and started to move it over to the next bookcase, and caught a glimpse of some new faces talking to Chantelle. Yes, indeed, 'twas Bruce Wayne, and a few other guys I didn't know. I would have continued on with business as usual, but Chantelle caught sight of me and snapped her fingers in that brisk manner that indicated her temper was already teetering on its edge, so I sighed and came forward.

"Jeanette, these are Mr. Wayne, McCue, Duncan and Pendragon. They've offered to graciously pull together their funds and replace the ruined books. If you don't mind, would you see to it they each get a copy of the list of books?" she said in a curt voice, and I nodded, turning to shake hands with the men. McCue was an older gentleman with iron gray hair and a mustache, and he didn't seem to smile a lot. Duncan had a egotistical, oily air to him, and Wayne of course, seemed to be just as I'd always heard him described.

Mr. Pendragon however, caught me by surprise. He was unusually tall for a man, almost 6'7", with long black hair he'd slicked back, pale, perfect skin, and dark emerald green eyes. He was—I simply had no other word for it—beautiful! He didn't smile when I went to shake his hand, but rather blinked at me, and without warning, brought my hand up to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

"What? I beg your pardon!" I just managed to squeak, feeling heat rising in my cheeks.

"And you shall have it, milady. If I should profane with my unworthy lips thy person, please allow me to submit to thee my humblest apologies." he said in a beautiful voice that was both deep and rich. His speech caught me off guard, and I found that my mouth had gone quite dry as he continued to speak. "Please, if you carry with thee a complaint concerning my conduct, speak only my name and order me to cease and desist. I am Lancelot Merlynnis Pendragon, and your humble servant, sweet woman."

I still couldn't quite find breath to speak, and my cheeks burned hotter than before. His name was no doubt the odd humor of a parent with a love for Arthurian legends, but somehow he managed to work that to his advantage with his beauty, charm and grace. Finally I thought of something to say.

"I have to get back to my work. I-I'll make sure each of you get a copy of the list of books to replace."

Of all the things I could have said!

For the most part, the others seemed not to mind, but Mr. Pendragon seemed rather taken aback as he released my hand and I went back to the shelves.

"Jeanette Harker, Mr. Pendragon," I heard Chantelle say, and I desperately wanted to smack her about her mouth for even telling him anything, "I'm sorry she was rude to you—"

"But alas, accidental rudeness occurs most every day." I heard him answer, in a voice that carried despite the distance I put between us. "But I was not offended by Miss Harker. After all, considering the events of yesterday, I find her reaction far more forgivable than most."

"I think you're just saying that because you think she's cute, Lance." Bruce Wayne chuckled. My cheeks were burning so much by now I was wondering why someone hadn't called the fire department on me.

"And I say one ought not to jump to conclusions, Wayne." Lancelot Pendragon answered briskly.

"Can we get on with this, already?" Duncan threw in. "I want to see what's so special about this library."

Ah. That meant Chantelle was giving them the tour, showing them all the different reasons why the library's been here since the city was founded and why it was being nominated as a historical landmark in Gotham. I wondered for a second whether those suits were there to find a loophole so they could get the place torn down to raise a mall, or whether they were here to help fund the library's nomination.

_I wonder what Mr. Pendragon likes to read, if he talks so elegantly all the time._

I froze in mid-action, letting the books simply slip from my hands and miss the bin below. What in the world had put that thought in my head?

_Forget about it, _I told myself a bit irritably, _Rich people don't even give anyone the time of day. As if he'd want to tell you what he reads! Hell, a pretty boy like him? What's the guarantee he even _can _read? Maybe he says stuff like that because his parents have trained him to._

I chuckled a little maliciously at the thought, grabbing a few more books and tossing them into the bin, a little harsher than usual. And I'd put the snob crowd with their crisp, perfectly pressed Italian suits out of my mind by the time our paths happened to cross again, me on the seventh shelf of the third aisle as they started to wind their way back around to the doors. I glanced over as one by one, they appeared at the end of the aisle, led by Chantelle, hoping I'd get to hear what exactly their plans were for the library.

I must have leaned a bit too far back, because I lost my footing on the ladder, my foot slipped, and I fell, heart pounding as I let out a yelp.

Suddenly I wasn't falling any more, and two strong, muscular arms were catching me, one under my knees, the other at the middle of my back. I slowly calmed down, looking up into that pair of green eyes, wide with…worry?

"Th-thank you, Mr. Pendragon." I managed to gasp.

"Miss Harker! Are you alright?" he rumbled in that deep voice, and my heart started doing back flips.

"I-I think so," I muttered as he set me down, quite embarrassed to discover my knees were feeling weak. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" He asked, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

I frowned. What was he playing at?

"You just ran down half of one of our aisles to catch me in the split second in took me to lose my balance." I said slowly, hoping he'd get the hint. No person should be able to move that fast.

"Did I?" he mused, and I felt myself go hot again, this time with anger.

"Drop the dumb act, Mr. Pendragon! There's no way you can move that fast!" I snapped, poking him right in the chest, realizing there was something about his suit that seemed familiar.

"I certainly seem capable of such a feat when the life of a beautiful desert rose such as yourself is at risk of making this otherwise colorless world a far gloomier place with its loss." he answered, and suddenly I knew why.

"So _YOU'RE_ the man who paid for my coffee yesterday!" I gasped, appalled. How dare he! First making a mockery of me at Starbucks, then showing up here and embarrassing me, and now saving my backside and making fun of me? I wasn't going to put up with it!

Furious, I swept past him and charged for the door.

"Wait, Miss Harker!" he called after me, sounding upset. "What is wrong? What have I done to earn your wrath? I thought you would appreciate the gesture!"

I spun and saw him right behind me, reaching out his hand, and was reminded horribly of my dream from last night.

"Yeah? Well, you thought wrong!" I yelled, and he recoiled as though struck. I looked past him to Chantelle, whose expression was appalled. "I need to go back home, I'm not feeling well!"

She made no effort to argue and I stomped out the door to my Dodge, ignoring Mr. Pendragon as best as I could when he followed me outside.

"Miss Harker! Miss Harker, please wait!" he pleaded. Part of me really wanted to, he sounded so earnest, but the rest of me was too furious to care. "Miss Harker! Please! Relay to me your frustrations with me that I might find a way of rectifying however I have wronged you!"

I wrenched open the door to my Neon and glared at him, hating his sweet sincerity and utterly oblivious male mind.

"If you need me to tell you, then you're an idiot, for all of your flowery speech, Mr. Pendragon!" I snapped, slipping inside my car. I made to slam the door shut, but he caught it before I could, staring at me pleading green eyes.

"Then if I were to figure it out for myself, could I not talk to you and have the chance to earn your forgiveness?" he asked, in tones of desperation.

"Maybe," I growled, trying to pull the door shut again, but it wouldn't budge. "Let go!"

"Over coffee, then!" He said, regaining his composure. "After all, we clearly take our beverages at the same establishment, do we not?"

What in the world was he playing at? I wanted to smack him with something, but unfortunately I had no hardbacks on my passenger side seat at the time, and he _did_ seem so sincere…

"Please, Miss Harker." he said. "I'll buy yours, as well."

I glowered at him, then calmed down. Well, why not? It didn't sound like too bad an idea, and it never hurt to educate a male out of his stupidity.

And he _was_ really handsome…

"Well…all right, fine! I suppose I could go for a cup some time." I muttered, looking away from him, heat rising in my cheeks once more.

"Excellent!" he said, the ghost of a smile on his face, "Wednesday at eleven o'clock, then?"

"Don't see why not." I mumbled.

"I look forward to it." he said, and I could hear in his voice that he meant it. He grabbed my hand again, brushing my fingers to his soft lips, then pulled away, leaving me to stare, my mouth working furiously as I tried to think up a retort. Strangely though, I was having trouble forming a coherent thought. The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a wry smile, and he shut the door to my car.

"I wish thee a lovely afternoon, Miss Harker."

I shrieked in anger and pulled out of the parking lot, wanting nothing more than to get home. I glanced up in my rearview mirror, and saw Lancelot Pendragon watching me, still standing where I left him. I groaned. What in the world had I just agreed to?

I was still struggling to figure it all out when I reached my townhouse, feeling confused and disoriented after the day's events. I was halfway up the steps to the door when I noticed the lights in my living room were on.

Odd. I didn't remember leaving those on.

I almost dismissed it from my mind, but as I pulled out my keys, I touched the door, and it slowly creaked inward, making me freeze, my feet rooted to the spot and my heart hammering in panic.

_Someone was in my house!_


	4. Chapter 4: The Power of Ice Cream

Chapter Four: The Therapeutic Power of Ice Cream

[Jeanette's POV:]

My heart was pounding, and my mind was going several miles a minute as I gently pushed the door a little further in, straining my ears for any sounds of my intruder. Glancing in, there appeared to be no harm done: the living room was perfectly intact, the door showed no signs of forced entry, and I could hear music playing softly from further in, possibly the kitchen. Still, I wasn't taking chances that this trespasser was as much of a gentleman as Mr. Pendragon, and I opened the coat closet door as I shut the front one, pulling out a metal baseball bat I kept for safety reasons. I'm not a paranoid person, (or at the very least I wouldn't consider having been one before yesterday,) but I've got an uncle in the Navy who gave me the bat as a present when I told him I hated reading horror novels.  
_ Lo! Fail me not, thou faithful club! _  
I tried to adjust the bat in my grip as I stepped carefully into the living room, but I had no way of knowing if I was holding it correctly, so I gave up trying. Again, there was no one I could see, and no sign of the place being ransacked. A shiver started to run up my spine and I swallowed as quietly as I could over the knot in my throat. This wasn't too different from a scene in one of my aforementioned horror novels, and I decided in this case I would rather not live in a book.  
The hair on the back of my neck raised, like I was being watched, and I spun to look at my staircase, finding someone there.  
He was relatively tall and so thin I thought for a second he might be anorexic. He wore a skin-tight gray suit that covered him, nearly head to toe, underneath a red cloak and mantle, with a belt around his thin waist. His mask was gray also, with a black diamond dead-center over his forehead, black ears and markings around his eyes, which were all of him I could really see, two soft-brown orbs that stared at me coldly.  
"Ahh, you're home." he said in a strange, husky accent I couldn't identify, talking like I was a roommate just getting back to the dorm. He hefted one of my books up for me to see. "You might want to consider straightening your bedroom up. It's disgusting, really. A woman who can be so neurotically nitpicky about how clean her townhouse is doesn't care if she leaves her most precious treasures just lying about in her filthy bedroom? And here I always heard yours was the cleverer of the sexes."  
I'm not sure what it was; seeing my house broken into, finding a criminal from Arkham on my staircase, or hearing him insult me—though I believe it might have been all three—but I opened my mouth, screaming in rage, and charged at him, his eyes opening wide behind his mask. Suddenly the bat didn't feel like a heavy, awkward club any more, but more of an extension of my arms as I swung, catching him on his side and sending him sprawling on the staircase. He growled in pain, and I swung again, but this time he got out of the way, and the bat connected with the empty stairs, sending reverberating shudders through my arms. I glanced up, finding him already near the top of the stairs, and I stomped up after him, lugging the bat along.  
"You are DEAD, you villainous dog!" I roared at his retreating cloak as he dove into my room, "By my head, thou shalt be slain or this isn't the countenance of Jeanette Marie Harker!"  
Um, yes, the Shakespeare-inspired threats? Those come naturally for me.  
I charged into my room, and nearly fell over in shock.  
It was clean.  
Perfectly clean and virtually spotless, with all of my books beautifully catalogued and carefully set in place on each shelf.  
"Oh, that tears it! You are so dead…" I growled. NOBODY touches my books except me! The guy stared at me, pressed his thumbs together, and—I could scarcely believe what I was witnessing, began to rise off the floor until the top of his head brushed the ceiling.  
"Not if you can't reach me," he answered smugly, folding his legs like he was meditating.  
_ Idiot! _  
I ran over and yanked hard on one of the tasseled sides of his cloak, and he almost came completely back down to the floor with an astonished yelp. I hoisted the bat above my head, ready for a swing—  
And the black diamond in the middle of his mask opened to reveal a third eye.  
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in my head, making me cry out in pain. It felt like someone was trying to carve my brain right out of my head. A second later, it stopped, and I blinked, fighting back tears.  
I'd been rescued, much to my surprise, by the appearance of a young man with violently red hair and pale skin, wearing a white tank top and dark blue jeans. I knew that face; I could pick out my cousin anywhere in a crowd.  
"Jeannie!" he squeaked, looking horrified. "What are ye doin' home so soon?"  
"What am—what am _I_?—I should be asking _you_ the questions, Jesse! What in the name of Jane Austen are you doing in my house? And who the hell is—"  
"FANTASIA!" the man roared, his third eye disappearing as though it never were, "Get her away from me! She's a crazy bitch!"  
_ What…the…hell? _  
"SPELLY!" Jesse roared back, charging over and seizing the man by the front of his mantle, "DONNAE TALK ABOOT ME COUSIN THA' WAY!"  
'Spelly?' What kind of name was 'Spelly?' But he looked familiar…  
Suddenly I remembered seeing a headline in the local newspaper not too long ago, featuring an insane hypnotist named Spellbinder. He hadn't really been in the news since, but his picture made the paper when it was revealed he had tried to steal a legendary gemstone from the BCC auction. Since then he was said to have been locked up in Arkham.  
As for Jesse, he's my cousin from Scotland. His mother and my father were brother and sister, but I've not seen nor heard from my dad in years, so I'm not sure why Jesse's family had remained in Scotland while mine had lived in the States. I also knew that a while ago Jesse had been touring with the Zataras, the father-daughter magic show that travels worldwide, because Giovanni Zatara had offered Jesse a very rewarding career as a magician. But three years ago, for reasons he still refused to tell anyone, Jesse had left the show and wasn't speaking with the Zataras. I'd seen him a great deal since, but over the past month or so, he'd stopped coming around.  
And now…  
"YOU BROUGHT AN INSANE CRIMINAL INTO MY HOUSE, JESSE?" I screamed. Oh, this day was just getting better and better!  
"Jeannie," he said in his soft, soothing voice, reaching up and plucking the bat from my hands, "Ye need tae calm yeself down."  
"NO! I AM NOT GOING TO BE CALM! YOU GET HIM OUT OF HERE! I'VE GOT ENOUGH PROBLEMS ALREADY!" I snapped, jabbing a finger into my cousin's chest.  
"I cannae leave him by his lonesome, wot," Jesse said calmly, "I be owin' him a life debt."  
"A what?" I spluttered helplessly, feeling tears at the back of my eyes. I was just ready for this day to be over.  
"Relax, Jeannie," Jesse sighed again. "Ye need tae be gettin' some rest, aye, but I'll be explainin' e'erythin' tae ye o'er a cup o' coffee."  
"Coffee sounds amazing," I moaned pitifully, giving in. Jesse could protect us plenty against the likes of Spellbinder. Then I thought about the coffee and remembered that I had arranged to meet Mr. Pendragon on Wednesday and groaned in exasperation.  
"Hmph," I heard Spellbinder growl, "With the way she carries on, you'd think being a librarian was a high-stress job."  
He was so lucky I was too tired to turn around and clock him in his third eye.

Few people can work magic in the kitchen like my younger cousin Jesse.  
For one thing, he's a magician. Magic is a given there.  
For another, I taught him to cook, and I would assume with all the traveling he did with Zatara, he picked up a few extra things here and there. And the kid makes a butt-kicking good cup of hazelnut coffee. He set an enormous, steaming mug down in front of me—really it was more like a tankard—and started to add sugar and milk to it. I tried to protest when he took away the sugar, but when Jesse blinks his large brown eyes at you, you usually have a really hard time arguing with him afterward.  
And the kid wonders why women practically throw themselves at him when he walks by.  
"Ye donnae need tae be givin' yeself a rush ye'll be regrettin' in an ahr." he scolded me gently, handing the sugar bowl over to Spellbinder.  
"When I said I wanted sugar, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," the hypnotist muttered darkly.  
Wait, what?  
I actually managed to look at him, ignoring Jesse working on my coffee. Did that three-eyed freak just say what I think he just said? No, there was no way that—  
_ Ignore him_, I told myself, pointedly looking back as my cousin started to stir the beverage, _He's just trying to mess with you. He doesn't like the fact that you nearly handed his ass to him and he's angry with Jesse for stepping in and defending me. Just ignore him. _  
"You have a problem me, Jeanette?" Spellbinder asked me, his mask shifting slightly, like he was raising an eyebrow.  
"Gee, you only broke into my house, went through my things, and threatened me. Why in the world would I have a problem with you, do you think?" I asked in mock surprise, lacing every word with equal sarcasm. Did that extra eye actually impair his vision or something? I would have thought my dislike was painfully obvious, even to a blind poet or something. _Homer would definitely be able to see it_. I snorted.  
"A-actually, ye did leave me a spare key, Jeannie," Jesse said sheepishly, sinking into his chair and avoiding my eye.  
"Oh," I said, remembering when I'd first seen him back from the Zatara tour. He'd needed a place to stay for a while, and I'd given him the spare key to the townhouse so if he ever had to come back for a few days he could get in. At once I felt a little stupid, and took a sip of my coffee, hoping to stall for time.  
"An' I was th' one tae fix up ye room also," Jesse added, his shoulders hiking up to his ears as his face when a brilliant pink, "I heard aboot what happened tae ye yesterday, an' I was hopin' tae surprise ye a little when ye came home, try tae make ye feel better."  
Now I felt really stupid.  
It would be just like Jesse to do something as thoughtful as that.  
"An' Spelly was goin' tae find a cookbook for me when ye found him," he added, then glared pointedly at the ex-monk, "Though I be takin' no fault fer his stupid mouth."  
"Watch it, Scot." Spellbinder shot back. "You owe me."  
"Now that you bring it up again," I interjected, "What exactly do you owe this freak, Jesse, and why?"  
My cousin blinked at me a moment, then sighed.  
"Ye remember hearin' how the Joker an' a few others escaped from Arkham no' long ago, aye?" he asked, and I shuddered, nodding. Oh, I knew that only too well now.  
"Then ye also ken how they found the Penguin sayin' he was bein' controlled by vampires? Well, aboot tha' time I was on a job, an' I happened tae run intae Firefly. Heard o' him?"  
"Yeah…" I said uneasily. I already didn't like where this was going.  
"Seems he though' I was comin' tae muscle in on his action. Still got nary a clue what he was up tae, but he turned on me. Coulda handled meself, but then I had an attack, an' collapsed." He said in a soft voice, and I winced in sympathy. Both Jesse and I have very mild forms of sickle-cell anemia, but when Jesse suffers an attack, he ends up in severe pain to the point of borderline paralysis. He continued, "An' it was round aboot tha' time when Spelly here—" he motioned toward the hypnotist, "—showed up. He an' Firefly'd been havin' a bit o' bad blood between them, so he hypnotized him when he saw his chance. He didn't even ken he'd saved me life until I thanked him for it. So now I owe him a life debt."  
Oh, man! I groaned and looked between them.  
"Jesse Orion Macallister," I said slowly, and he flinched the way he always does when someone says his full name, "You are one of the most thick-headed men I've ever had the misfortune to be related to! How could you just let yourself end up owing this…this…freak your life?"  
"I didnae mean tae…" he said, his face going a few shades lighter than his hair as he stared down into his coffee.  
"UGH! And I thought I was having problems!" I groaned, smacking a hand to my forehead and slumping in my chair.  
"You are aware that the 'freak' has perfectly able, working ears and can hear you talking about him as though he's not here." Spellbinder said coldly to my right.  
"Yes, well," I snapped, glaring at him, "Take note that I don't really care."  
"You'd best watch yourself, Miss Harker," he sneered, "Or the Joker won't be the only one out for your blood."  
I froze. How did he…?  
"Khalama!" Jesse yelled suddenly, his face darkening. For a moment I wondered what in the heck that could mean, and then I saw Spellbinder jump as though shot at. "That'll be enough! Leave me cousin be!"  
Spellbinder settled back in his seat glaring darkly, but said gently, "As you wish, Fantasia."  
"And why do you keep calling him that?" I demanded.  
"Me stage name." Jesse answered evasively.  
I could only groan and swing my legs over the arm of my chair. Today was just as overwhelming and stressful as yesterday, (well, maybe not nearly as stressful,) and I needed something to take my mind off it.  
"Aye, ye be lookin' harried, ye are," Jesse remarked.  
"You think?" I snorted.  
"Ice cream." He said abruptly.  
"W-what?"  
"Ye need ice cream," he declared. Oh, thank God! I started to get up but he waved me to sit back down in my seat, "Neh, neh. Ye stay righ' there."  
"But I don't have any—"  
"I brought some." Jesse answered as he stepped into the kitchen, and Spellbinder gave a loud, false cough. "Ach, ahright then, Spelly and I brought some."  
"That's more like it." The ex-monk snapped. Shortly Jesse returned, three bowls of ice cream and spoons in tow.  
"Here we be," he declared brightly, setting a bowl down in front of me.  
"What's the flavor?" I asked warily. It wasn't that I didn't trust my own cousin, but rather that I knew he had unusual tastes sometimes. Oddly, it was Spellbinder who answered.  
"Coldstone's Mint Dark Chocolate. Nothing better."  
I shot him a glare, daring him to be lying, and he shrugged back at me, digging into his ice cream. It was rather surprising he managed to eat it at all, considering how high his scarf sat. I steeled myself, ready for anything…and found it was actually just that. The ice cream was a perfect dark chocolate with a minty aftertaste. I loved it instantly and started to fall on it.  
"Feel better?" Jesse asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"A little," I answered between bites.  
"And the ice cream?" he grinned, and I smiled back.  
"It's helping."


	5. Chapter 5: Animal Matters

Chapter Five: Animal Matters

[Lance's POV:]

There are few things in life as intolerable as paperwork, and few do I detest more. Still, I am a businessman, and I am well aware that there shall always, always be paperwork so long as Dragon's Blood, Inc. and the responsibilities of running a business empire rest upon my shoulders.

I was just getting through a stack of the damned paperwork when the intercom on my desk chimed, the light blinking, and it gave me quite a charge. Surprising, to think I was so engrossed I jumped at a buzzing sound as familiar to me as my own hands. Shaking the noise from my head, I pressed down on the button and asked, "Yes?"

"Mr. Pendragon, sir," came the calm, collected voice of my secretary, Gerard, "A Mr. Greene is here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment—"

"Send him up, Gerard." I interrupted. Robert Greene never needed an appointment to see me.

"Of course, Mr. Pendragon." If Gerard was at all surprised by my response, he did an excellent job of not showing it.

"Gerard Montaine," I gave him my best attempt at a scolding mother tone, "How long have you been in service to me?"

"Thirteen years, Mr. Pendragon."

"Then why in the name of God are you still referring to me by my surname? Have I not told you time and again you may call me Lancelot?"

"Old habits die hard, Mr. Pendragon." He answered before dropping the line.

Harrumph. As annoying as he can be, the man brings up an excellent point. I shook my head and returned to the tedious signing of forms until the door to my office swung open and a young man not too many years my junior entered.

"Yo, what's up, Lancey-pants?" he drawled.

"Do you never _knock_, like a normal person?" I shot back.

Robert Greene, better known as Rook, the Riddler's gunman, is of average height and build, with black-and-white, spiked hair and warm gray eyes. His shirt and tie also are black and white, checker-patterned like a chessboard, and he wears black pants with gun holsters on the belt. He swaggered—he seems to swagger everywhere he goes when he's in a good mood—over to my desk, and I caught the faint whiff of alcohol coming from his person.

Robert Greene is the most foul, repressed, ill-mannered chit I've ever met in the long twenty-five years I've been alive. He's a womanizing, hormonal buffoon who thinks with his genitals as often as he does his guns and has less than enough brains to fill an eggcup. He's rude, unkempt, unwashed, disgusting, hardly educated properly, a greedy, begging freeloader with a taste for alcohol and cigarettes, and he gets on the very last nerves of generally everyone he meets.

Would it surprise anyone to learn he is the only man I completely trust with my life, and the only person I consider a brother?

I'm willing to take bets on that.

"Come on, man. You know when it's me, so I don't need to!" he chuckled, looking so pleased with himself it took a great deal of restraint not to reach up and smash his face against the surface of my desk. After all, there's no telling if I'd ever get the smell of blood out of the polished wood.

"Of course I know when it's you." I grumbled. "You smell repulsive. Have you ever heard of a miraculous invention called a shower?"

"Might've seen one once." he answered, grinning.

"And what about a good dental scrubbing? Perhaps some mouthwash?" I growled, looking him in the eye. "I can smell the beer on your breath."

"Geez, you tightwad. You gotta learn to let loose and really LIVE every once in a while." Rook snorted, rolling his eyes at me.

"Not if it involves loss of inhibition, lack of hygiene, and numerous sexually-transmitted diseases running rampant through my body, ruining my testicles." I answered, signing another form and moving it to my completed stack.

Rook winced. "DUDE!"

"What?" I asked, nearly snapping my pen in my grip.

"Dude, you need to get laid or something! 'Testicles?' Really? Call them balls, stones, nads, family jewels, anything! Just not that!" he groaned, covering his face.

"Why not?" I snapped irritably. "It's grammatically accurate. They are tes—"

"NO NO NO NO NO! Don't say it, don't say it!" he cut me off, waving his hands wildly, "Just say balls!"

"Why should I?"

"Please, for my sake?"

"Robert—"

"Come on, just call them balls. Just let me hear you say it at least once, so I know you're at least semi-normal. Just say 'balls!'"

I let my lip curl as I gave a silent growl; he knows I am far from normal, by any standards. Still, I knew he wouldn't let it lie until he was reassured, so better to give him what he wanted.

"Balls." I said boredly, rolling my eyes and signing two more forms. He gave a melodramatic sigh and brought his hand down on my shoulder.

"Thank GOD! What a relief! You wouldn't seriously say something like that in front of the chicks, now would you?"

"Why in the world would I discuss reproductive organs in the presence of a lady? It's simply inappropriate." I snapped. What in the world was he thinking? As if I would say something so…so…so like _him_!

"Oh, but it's okay to talk about that around me?" he snorted.

"You are a man, you gun-slinging yahoo. Men talk like this in each other's company or so I'm told. And in any event, you started this whole thing with talk of how I need to 'live', if you will recall."

"You need to get laid." he repeated, shaking his head at me like I was a lost cause. "Seriously."

"And on serious topics," I asked, remembering what I'd wanted to talk to him about, "I have something to share with you."

"Is it contagious pompous rich-boy tightwad germs?" he said warily, taking a step back from the desk.

"Of course not, you moron!" I was on the verge of yelling. "I met a woman yesterday!"

Suddenly he was all ears, the disgusting little bastard.

"Oooooh! Lancey met a _girl_?" he sounded like an immature high school boy. "Come on, man. Spill it! Tell Rookie about your new lady friend!"

"You've the worst one-track mind I've ever had the misfortune to encounter." I muttered.

"Is she hot? She's gotta be some kind of a bombshell to get your attention, you hard-ass dog!" he chuckled, letting his tongue loll out of his open mouth.

Disgusting.

And did I not mention he has a one-track mind?

I sighed, praying for patience, and the image of Miss Harker came to my mind, letting me relax almost instantly.

"Oh, Robert. She is the most beautiful, unmarred lady I've ever laid eyes upon in this dreary city." I answered, resting my chin on my hand.

He froze, looking at me with an expression of the utmost horror. "Lance, I don't like that look on your face. That goofy grin of yours is scaring me."

"Oh, do be quiet and listen a moment, Robert!" I snapped. "Perhaps you might learn to understand a thing or two concerning women. Her name is Jeanette Harker."

"Sounds a little stiff-collar." he muttered.

"She is far from stiff-collar, my friend. She is the absolute vision of loveliness. Such pale skin and soft brown eyes! Lo, she is the Juliet to my Romeo! Attractive as the shell may be, the physical beauty cannot compare to the obvious lover of the classics on the inside, nor the incredible wit and sharp intellect produced as a result thereof! And so observant, one might think the predators of the air had taken to walking among men in their likeness! She noticed the speed with which I was able to move in order to catch her when she fell. Rare has it been since I've met someone so sharp-eyed! And yet, despite the blade she wields in place of a tongue, I sense a softer, more vulnerable woman underneath, a lover waiting for a white knight to which she is able to open her heart."

I sighed, breathless and lost in thought, dwelling on Miss Harker's look of absolute fury she was wearing when we parted ways yesterday. Somehow it only made her all the more beautiful, and I was finding it very difficult to keep my mind from straying to her. After all, she'd agreed to take coffee with me the day after tomorrow.

"Dude. Speak English. Seriously." Rook said in exasperation.

Oh, he was so lucky I didn't strangle him!

"She's amazing, Robert." I said slowly, "Did you get all of that, or did I use too many syllables?"

"She sounds a little too perfect!" he snorted, then he calmed down a little, and asked quietly, "What's her name again?"

"Jeanette Harker." I answered, sighing as I did, lost in thoughts of that beautifully furious expression again. He made a non-committal noise and I added, having saved the best part for the last, "And she's agreed to share a coffee with me Wednesday."

Rook's reaction was immediate. He had been examining on of my crystalline coasters and it slipped from his hand as he stared at me with wide, stunned eyes. I reached out and caught the coaster as it fell, its weight barely moving my hand.

"She agreed to a date with you? You work faster than I thought!" he gasped.

"It's not a date," I growled irritably, "It's a simple chat over a beverage."

"Man, that's _totally_ a date." he corrected, a grin working its way over his features.

" 'Tis the beginning of a courtship, Robert, not a 'date.'" I shot back. "A 'date' would imply something a little more formal involving dinner and tickets to the theatre. No, this is just a friendly chat."

"You're such a rich totty, Lance." was all he managed to throw back at me, and I almost smiled. Perhaps under other circumstances—for instance, had he been raised properly and given the lecture of what delicate creatures women can be—he would understand the point I try to get at.

"Then why are you still friends with me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge. He turned his stormy gray eyes on me, giving me a long, serious stare, and I nodded in response, letting him know I retracted the statement. It hadn't been a fair question to begin with.

"Anyway, there's another reason I came to see you." he remarked, crossing his arms, his countenance darkening. "There's been some disturbances in the sewer system lately."

I growled again, letting my lip curl up to show my displeasure. If he even THOUGHT I was going to consider crawling about in filth for his amusement, he'd better start carrying silver bullets more often.

"Don't give me that, Lance!" he snapped, "I know you don't like the idea, but just listen a second!"

"If it involves disturbances and sewers, I should think the most obvious culprit is roughly seven feet tall, scaly, and Cajun." I murmured darkly. I hate lizards with a passion, (there's one in particular I wouldn't mind offing,) and Killer Croc is no exception. He mainly operates in the network of sewers beneath Gotham City, so I had no idea why Rook and his superior hadn't naturally come to that conclusion.

"Listen, we know about Croc—"

_That_ was a surprise.

"But Riddly's not so sure it's him. Or at least, that he's alone. We ran into a tight situation the other night, the details of which you are not allowed to know—"

Thank heaven!

"And when we were in the sewers, we found claw marks, but they don't match Croc's. Too close together and the rents were too long. And here's the big clincher—boss found wolf hair nearby." he whispered this last part, looking thoroughly impressed, as he knew he had my attention now. It was unlikely that true wolves would get loose in the city, much less the sewer system, and there was very little down there that their claws could leave depressions in. This left one conclusion for us.

"Another?" my voice left me in a gasp.

I'd never seen another one like me, let alone met one here in Gotham. To think there was now one running here, almost literally right under my nose…

"Yeah. We don't know how long he's been here or what his connection to Croc is, but I'm dead positive that our guess is right." Rook said quickly and quietly, "Lance…you're not alone anymore…and if all the urban myths are true…you two could end up in a turf war, like some of the mob bosses around here, fighting for territory. I say you need to go down there, find this guy, and show him who's top dog around Gotham."

"No force," I snapped, rising from my chair, "In heaven or on earth…will make me enter those tunnels."

"What about _Miss Harker_?" he asked slyly.

"What _about_ Miss Harker?" I shot back. What was he playing at, dragging her name into this?

"What if this newb threatens your little lady in order to get to you, to assert dominance? That's typical, right? Or what if he has the same taste in women? You don't go down there and asset your position as the alpha when you've got the chance, you could lose more than just your dignity." he pointed out.

And by God, it was such a sensible suggestion coming from him that it was precisely why I lowered myself to skulking about the sewers with him come sundown that same evening.

"For the love of mud, Lance, quit wrinkling up your nose like that. It's getting on my nerves!" Robert muttered angrily, shining the flashlight in my eyes.

"Thou shouldst try having a nose like mine sometime, and _then_ tell me not to wrinkle it in displeasure!" I shot back, "Would thee enjoy having the smell of rotting cabbage and stale urine assaulting thy senses with every inhale?"

"Ugh. Please don't say urine." he groaned. "I really don't want to think about what we might be wading through."

Hmph. So the idiot had _some_ sense of hygiene after all. Who knew?

Personally, I didn't want to consider that line of thinking either, which is precisely why I had the foresight to dress in black pleather clothes. Plastic leather not only cleaned easily, but it could also be disposed of, and I doubted I would want to wear these again after tonight. For several long minutes we traversed the underground, Rook having me stop occasionally and sniff at places, trying to find the scent of this newcomer. However, the odds weren't in my favor to begin with since the smell of the sewers was so strong, and I was having terrible trouble trying to find another other scent than the one native to this squalid underground.

"Here's the place where we first saw the marks!" Rook said at one point, charging down a passage. Reluctantly, I followed, and we came to a stop at a wall that was covered in graffiti. Underneath some of the more illegible script, I was able to make out five long gashes in the surface of the cement. I crept a little closer, lowering my face, and inhaled.

Blood.

Blood and wolf.

And something else, something far less pleasant and twice as deadly. I sniffed again to confirm.

Silver.

"Lance, what's wrong?" Rook asked.

"I smell silver. This bodes ill for us all." I murmured, pulling away from the wall, and catching a whiff of something else.

"Yah got that right, city-boy."

It never ceases to amaze me how Rook and I manage to swear in tandem. He spun first, pulling out his guns, but the lizard-man already had him by the shirt collar.

"Checkehs! Nevah thought I'd see yah scopin' out my turf." He growled.

"Eh heh…Croc, old buddy, old pal…" Robert chuckled in a nervous way, "You aren't still mad about the whole accidentally shooting the tip of your tail thing?"

The flashlight went flying from his hand and went out as Killer Croc slammed him against the sewer walls, roaring.

"I'll take that as a yes….ohhhh…." Rook groaned, struggling in his grasp.

"Cease and desist at once my good reptilian fellow, if you please!" I finally sighed, brushing my bangs aside in vain. One might think it suicide to attempt talking sense into a seven-foot handbag that still boasts its teeth, but it certainly seemed to give him enough pause.

"Huh?" he turned and looked at me, and in the darkness, our eyes met, gold to green.

"Lance, are you nuts?" Rook squawked at me, and Croc pushed him a little further against the wall.

"Shuddup, Checkehs. I dun like talkin' food." He growled before swiveling his great reptilian head to look at me, nostrils flaring as he began to sniff in my scent. "You—you ain't human!"

"Look who's speaking." I answered dryly.

"You smell like Eva!" he said in astonishment, dropping Rook unceremoniously into the slime beneath our feet. I raised an eyebrow.

"Eva?" I prompted.

He growled in response for a moment, and lunged out, snapping his maw just short of my face.

If he thought I was going to flinch and back away, he had another thing coming. Certainly he was taken aback, and relaxed a little.

"Eva." He repeated firmly. "Say…if you're the same as her…mebbe…mebbe yah can help her. She…she's hurt."

Aaaahhhhh….suddenly it made sense.

"I can guarantee nothing, my aquatic friend. But perhaps I can determine what must be done, or at least how she is hurt." I answered calmly.

"No hospitals!" He snapped suddenly, as though I'd suggested it.

"Of course not." I answered.

"No doctahs either." He added for safe measure.

"Perish the thought." I replied. "Lead the way."

He gave me a skeptical growl, then turned and slowly started to amble down one of the tunnels, tail whipping behind him in agitation. Rook was slowly getting to his feet beside me, a wary eye still upon the lizard-man, and he clapped a filth-covered hand upon my shoulder, which I tried to resist shrugging off.

"Dude, you're totally crazy! He's going to eat us!" he whispered.

"Ah heard that, Checkehs." Came the call, and I started to stride after him, undaunted. There was someone who needed my help, and such a call rose above Robert's petty concerns at this point. I gave him a quick jerk of my head, and he followed, albeit reluctantly. Killer Croc led us down several winding tunnels, weaving his way through a vast underground labyrinth only he was familiar with enough to navigate, giving me a twisted sense of vertigo after a while. The smells, the darkness, the unbalancing nature of the monotonous sewer walls…I growled, feeling a ripple run through my body, shaking my head to clear it of the building nausea. There was work to be done.

Finally the tunnels opened up into a decent-sized antechamber, half the floor sunk beneath dark water. The other half was raised, and there were a decent number of tables lining the cracked floor. Clearly Killer Croc was attempting to furnish the place. Then, off in the furthest corner from us, I saw a pallet made of threadbare, patched blankets, and a young woman lying upon them. Dark brown hair fell just below her shoulders, and amid the tangled locks, I could see two wolf ears lying flat, brown fur matching that of the tail coming from her back. Panting slightly, her skin was sickly pale and drenched in sweat, as though fighting off a fever, and as we drew closer, she opened eyes that were already phasing between a soft brown and a piercing yellow, her werewolf immune system trying to fight off whatever had her this ill.

"Found her like this half-way down a tunnel tryin' ta get home. Ah dunno what's wrong…" Croc said in a voice that was oddly tainted with worry.

"C-Croc…" the girl whimpered, "I-is that you…? A-are you back…?"

"Eva! Ah'm here, Eva!" he said, rushing over to her.

"I…I smell someone else…" she said, wincing in pain and confusion.

"Yeah, um…" Croc started to say, and I joined him at his side, leaning down to examine the girl. Her eyes flicked over to me and she sniffed, then her eyes widened as she let out a small gasp.

"Don't move," I said as calmly as I could manage, crouching down and reaching out to touch her forehead. She snarled a little, then lunged for my hand.

"Eva!" Croc yelled, and she winced again.

"Just relax, Miss Eva," I whispered. "Be calm."

She gave me a distrusting glare, then slowly relaxed still panting, and allowed me to touch her forehead, which was burning and slick with sweat. I leaned in a little closer, smelling, looking at the veins visible on her temples and neck, a vibrant, loathsome blue.

"Silver poisoning." I murmured.

"Silvah?" Croc gasped.

"I take it you know what silver means to our kind?" I asked, and he nodded, yellow eyes wide. "Very well then, you also know she will die if she doesn't get help."

"Ah said no hospitals!" he snarled.

"We have no need of one." I answered smoothly. "I have suffered silver poisoning myself, and I know someone who can help. He'll come if I call him. But we need to get her out of here, and quickly! No telling how much time she has left."

Croc and Eva exchanged a look, measuring my words and whether or not they ought to place their trust in me, making me nearly howl in frustration. Didn't they see how important this was?

Finally, Eva turned and looked me in the eye, sighing.

"Okay. I'll trust you."

"Thank you for that, Miss Eva."

"What's your name? You don't act like any other werewolf I've ever met." She said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"My name is Lancelot Merlynnis Pendragon, Miss Eva. You may call me Lance, for short. Now we'd best be moving. If you cannot stand, I recommend you get a ride from the walking handbag."

"Watch it, pretty-boy!" Croc growled, "Just 'cause yah can help Eva, doesn't mean ah won't bite."

"I recommend you don't, because you're incorrect." I answered coldly. "Right now, I'm the only one who can help her. Now pick her up."


	6. Chapter 6: The Cost Of Healing

Chapter Six: The Cost of Healing

[Lance's POV:]

Few and far between number the men with scientific knowledge whom I trust, and Dr. Emile Dorian is at the top of the list. So it was to him I had a call placed as we raced back to the mansion, Eva slipping between consciousness and unconsciousness the entire way. For the first several tries the signal remained dead, and finally I decided to give up until we'd reached my estate, where I was sure to get a call through to him. We arrived there in a short amount of time, though it truly felt a great deal longer, as time was of the essence. I went ahead and sent Rook to lead Waylon Jones around the grounds to the back door. None of the servants dared to stop me when I was moving as fast as I was, and only faithful Gerard latched himself to my side, ordering the others away.

"Do I want to know what is occurring, Mr. Pendragon?" he asked.

"Thou shalt see soon, Gerard. I require thee to vacate all entities from the rear entrance and ensure a private way up to my penthouse." I answered quickly, breaking into a run.

"Right you are, sir." Gerard answered, whipping out a small device resembling a palm pilot from his belt and rapidly pushing at its screen. I slowed down enough to wonder about it; this was something I'd not seen before.

"What is that?"

"A Mobile Security System Menu," Gerard replied, not removing his eyes from the screen even when his long, curly blonde ponytail started to smack his face, "Just received it earlier from Wayne Enterprises." He turned and gave me a pointed look, saying, "You have an upcoming meeting with Mr. Wayne tomorrow, _if_ you will recall!"

I lifted my lip and growled in reply.

This wasn't the time to be griping at me about such trivialities! Wayne could—and would!—wait until tomorrow!

When we arrived at the back door, the hall was already devoid of people, and I could see two yellow eyes staring at me through the glass. A keypad was mounted on the wall beside the doorframe, awaited a passcode, which I punched in without bothering to see if I was hitting the right keys or not. I must have, for there came an approving beep, and Gerard swung the door open to admit Killer Croc, holding Eva tightly against him, and he had to duck to enter. I glanced over and saw my secretary's eyes widen before he turned and gave me a look that said he'd drill me for questions later. Rook came in behind Croc, still watching the grounds with a practiced eye to ensure no one had seen anything, and once he'd shut the door, we raced to one of the employee elevators and took it up to the penthouse level. Instantly I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Dorian's number again, hoping against hope that this time he would answer.

"Answer, damn it all!" I growled.

There were three rings, a click, a shuffle, and a tentative, "H-hello?"

It certainly wasn't the voice I'd been expecting, but it was still a relief.

"Tygrus? Tygrus, this is Lance! I need you to get Dorian, straightaway! This is an emergency! I need him at the headquarters of Dragon's Blood, Inc!" my breath came out all at once, and I half-feared he wouldn't understand.

"Emergency?" I heard both his questions in that one word.

"Silver poisoning, Tygrus! I'll explain more later! I need Dorian here right away! No telling how much time is left!" I nearly shouted into the phone as the elevator doors slid open at last.

"Hang on, Lance," was all he said before hanging up, and I was left to escort my unlikely houseguests into the living room. Croc immediately went for the couch, gently setting Eva on it and brushing back her hair from her face. Gerard, hardly missing a beat, went straight for the linen closet and ordered Rook to assist him. It's a sign of how much respect my secretary commands when he can order Robert Greene to help him. Myself, I rushed to fetch something for Eva to drink. It's vital to keep fluid in a werewolf's system when you're racing against the clock to cure silver poisoning.

Thankfully, as annoyed as I get with him, Gerard keeps me well-stocked in whatever I may need, as I found plenty of Ice Mountain spring water in the refrigerator when I opened it. Perfect. Pouring a glass, I made my way back to the living room, where Croc automatically stepped aside, watching me carefully as I offered the water to Eva. She frowned at me, still sweating, like there was some hidden trap in the drink she couldn't see, but at last, with a little help, she pushed herself up on her elbows and started to drink.

"Not too fast," I said, when she nearly choked. "Take small sips at first. You're going to need a lot of fluid but too much at once isn't going to do you any good."

"Why?" came the croak.

"Obviously you'd choke, but you need to let the first few glasses or so get down. Your body is so desperate to fight off the poisoning, the first few glasses will become absorbed almost immediately into your bloodstream, to try to flush out the poison. After that, you'll need to keep drinking in order to keep fluid in your body, because your core temperature will spike to help your immune sys—"

"No." she murmured, waving me off in midsentence, "Why are you helping me?"

I hadn't been expecting that, and before I could formulate a proper answer, Gerard tapped my shoulder.

"Sir, if you please, I'll go downstairs, to await Dr. Dorian's arrival." he said gently. Rook appeared at his side and gave me a slow nod to indicate he was going to go with my secretary; my young friend still didn't quite trust Dorian.

"Ah'll go with ya. Ah wanna see this 'Dorian' fella for mahself." Croc growled.

"You'll just try to eat me!" Rook cried indignantly, and Croc lunged, snapping his jaw shut a good foot and a half away from Rook's chest. However, he did seem to get his point across.

"Ah got more important mattahs to worry about than teachin' ya mannahs right now." he said in a low growl. And in moments, Eva and I were left alone in the room.

"So why?" she asked again, still sipping at the water. I was astonished she was holding on this long. I murmured a silent prayer for Dorian to reach us with speed before I answered; no telling how much time she had left before her condition was incurable.

"Thou art lycanthian," I replied, a tad ingenuously, "The first other lycanthian I've ever met before in Gotham. And call this presumptuous of me…but this makes thee pack."

She stared at me as though stunned, and then started to laugh.

"Seriously?" she said in a weak chuckle.

"I fail to see what thou hast found amusing in my declaration." I remarked.

"Geez, you're really new at the whole werewolf thing, aren't you, rich boy?" she laughed, coughing slightly. "Calling me pack when we hardly know each other! Besides, you grow up with the pack. They're your family. That's the way it's always been, with true wolves _and_ werewolves."

Well now, I'd not been expecting that. Truth be told, I felt a little crushed. Here I'd finally found another werewolf, someone to empathize with about my…monthly problem…only to be told that I was intruding, in a fashion. All things considered, what she was saying made sense in a way.

But I still felt somewhat crushed by it.

She must have noticed, because I was silent for quite a time after that, and the quiet spoke volumes. She set the glass down, looking at me skeptically, eyes still phasing between brown and yellow. I didn't care to broach the subject of pack again, so instead I silently rose to my feet, took the glass and went back to the kitchen to refill it. I was on my way back when she addressed me.

"Er…Lance?"

"Yes, Miss Eva?" I answered, a little heavily.

"…How did you become a werewolf, anyway, since you don't know about basic lycanthian knowledge?"

I cannot pretend that remark did not sting a bit.

"Not in either of the conventional ways that may come to your mind," I replied, "Nor is that a subject I'm willing to discuss at the moment, if you'll forgive me. It brings back painful memories."

She stared at me for a long while, but clearly she respected me enough not to bring the subject up again. For a time, all that occurred was her drinking water and me refilling her glass a number of times. I felt like the wait was going to drive me mad; what was taking Dorian and Tygrus so long? I knew they had their own ways of moving about Gotham City but still…

"The silence is bugging the crap out of me." Eva said at one point, somehow still collected and cool despite her high fever and poisoning. I had to admire her for that; I doubt I would have been so laid back.

"Perhaps we could find something to discuss to ease your feeling?" I said warily, and when she gave me a consenting nod, I decided to try a subject that I'd been wondering at for a time. "If I may be so bold…what is your relationship with Waylon Jones?"  
At this, her face grew bright red, and I had a distinct feeling it wasn't from the fever.

"I…I'm not too sure." she said slowly, "I mean…It's been a little less than a year since I came to Gotham and we met. If anything, we're friends at the moment…I don't know. I'd like us to be more but he's got the hots for some chick orderly that works at Arkham." She ended in a growl, her expression becoming murderous, and I felt somewhat sorry on behalf of this female orderly she spoke of. Lord knows, I wouldn't want to see what Eva might do if she got her hands on the woman.

"What about you?" she asked abruptly.

"Wh-what about me?" I stuttered, taken aback.

"Normal by lycan standards or not," she said, managing a weak grin, "You've got to be considering mating by now. I'm guessing you're about my age now. 25, right? That's the normal time when lycans start seeking out a mate, you know."

Considering the events of yesterday and this morning, I truly found myself at a loss for words. Surely my attraction to Miss Harker didn't stem entirely from a primal instinct…? No, this had to be a morbid coincidence, if what Eva was saying was true.

"So there IS a girl!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she coughed a little more.

_What_? How had she figured that out?

"How in the world did you…?"  
"I have my ways, and you might learn them one day, when you figure out how to be a proper werewolf," she replied, expertly dodging the bullet, "So what's her name?"  
"…Jeanette Harker." I answered, feeling somewhat embarrassed to be mentioning this again, especially to another woman.

"What's she do?"

"She's a librarian."

Eva winced, and I wasn't sure whether it was disapproval or pain from the poison.

"Is something wrong with librarians?" I asked innocently.

"Normally you'd pick a more…thrilling choice, were you raised in a pack. Librarian seems rather tame." she said dryly.

I tried rather unsuccessfully to picture Miss Harker striking the Joker over his head with a book, but the fact remained the same. Sometimes being a librarian was far from tame, especially in this city.

"Geez, you're touchy!" Eva said, making me jump, and I realized she must have taken my silence for disapproval again. However, I'd barely begun to open my mouth when she held up a hand to forestall me. "Look, I get that you're a little different…so for the time being, I'm not going to judge. Have you talked to her?"

"I thought you had been suffering from silver poisoning." I couldn't keep the growl out of my voice completely.

"Still am, and it hurts like a bitch," she smirked, "Have you talked to her?"

"Not extensively, no. But I did manage to talk her into having coffee with me on Wednesday. I was truly hoping we could talk then…"

To my utter astonishment, this time Eva raised her eyebrows and gave me an approving nod.

"Not bad, not bad," she said, wheezing a little and taking another small sip of water, "Not bad at all."

"You wouldn't call such a get-together a 'date', would you?" I asked, thinking of Rook's earlier comment.

"Ha! A date? If you wanted a date, you should've asked out to dinner and the movies or something. No, this is a strict getting-to-know-you kind of thing. Why, did you think it counted as a date?" she gave me a rather queer look, and I shook my head immediately.

"Perish the thought! I was telling the monochromatic friend of mine about it, and he said it counted as a date."

Eva went through another series of coughs, then pulled a face. "What, does he _only _think with his balls?"

"Sometimes I wonder…" I muttered, frowning a tad. "If it's not his genitals he's thinking with, I daresay it's his firearms."

"Someone talking about me?" Rook's voice asked as he opened the door, admitting not only himself and Croc, but two other figures I knew well. Eva pushed herself up to a sitting position again, wheezing a little as they made to surround her, and snarled at the sight of Tygrus.

Tygrus is the only other person in the world I consider a brother, though for different reasons than I do with Rook. He's roughly seven feet tall with yellow cat eyes and silky gray-black fur that flows over his entire body like a dark waterfall, from muzzle to tail. He's a man-panther, a genetic experiment of Dorian's to see if he could create the ultimate life-form from 'scratch', so to speak, and he has been like a brother to me since childhood.

"Calm yourself," I whispered, reaching out to put a hand on Eva's shoulder, which was tense and slick with sweat, "Tygrus won't hurt you."

"Smells like cat." she growled, eyes wide.

"You smell…like wolf…and silver." Tygrus said softly, his mouth taking time to form the words as his large black nose sniffed Eva. He glanced at me, yellow eyes widening slightly in confusion, but he didn't pursue the question.

"What is this, then?" came a low, soothing English voice as a tall, redheaded older gentleman with a catlike face and a cane in the crook of his arm walked around the couch. The words were like a balm on a burn; not because Dorian had arrived at last or was saying anything of spectacularly profound insight, but because his voice can silence an entire room. I've never seen or even heard of anyone being able to interrupt Dorian when he speaks, as though nobody can bring themselves to do so. His voice is simply far too enchanting to hear.

"I'll explain later, Professor, but right now Miss Eva requires your help. Silver poisoning, and I've no idea how long—"

"Relax Lancelot, my boy," Dorian cut me off gently, placing a hand on my shoulder as he turned to look at Eva. "Thankfully the poison hasn't gone too far. You've done an excellent job keeping her hydrated, and I daresay you have quite the fighter's immune system, young lady."

Eva only watched him, relaxing back on the couch. Tygrus handed something to Dorian and my mentor began to fill a small syringe with a vermillion liquid, his antidote for silver poisoning.

"However, I cannot pretend to promise that this treatment will work for you as it always had for Lancelot. He's a special case in the realm of werewolves, and this antidote was designed with his genetic structure in mind. You may already have permanent damaging in different areas of your body, you may not. I'll administer this dosage to you, but I may need to bring you to my laboratory in the future, to follow up on how you're doing. Perhaps at that point, I'll be able to develop a better cure." Dorian explained to Eva calmly, and she was watching him with wide eyes. I clenched my fists on my knees, grinding my teeth.

Damn Emile Dorian! He _would_ look to gain advantage when he's helping someone!

"Stop bandying about, Dorian! She could die if you don't treat her!" I blurted out, and Croc growled his agreement, only to be silenced by a hiss and a glare from Tygrus, whose tail coiled about Dorian protectively.

"And she could die later if she doesn't agree to let me work on a better cure for her," Dorian said, to Eva as much as to me, "You must be thinking ahead, Lancelot." He turned back to Eva, and asked, "Are you willing to agree to those terms to save your life, Miss Eva?"

Her breathing had grown shallow again, and I was truly becoming frightened for her. Her eyes were phasing faster than ever as she looked from Dorian, to Croc, to me, and back to Dorian again. Finally, gritting her teeth, she gave the tiniest of nods.

"Just give me the damn shot." she growled.

"Ah don't like this—" Croc started.

"Be that as it may, my reptilian friend," Dorian spoke over him as he leaned forward and put the syringe in Eva's shoulder, depressing the plunger, "The choice was hers and not yours to make."

For a moment, Croc stared at him in astonishment, as though not believing the Englishman could have just cut him off, but then he began to lift his lip and growl again, irritated. Tygrus was up in a flash, ears lying flat against his head as he gave a warning snarl, the fur on his hackles rising.

"Be at ease, Tygrus!" I said, jumping up from my seat and placing a hand on his soft shoulder. "Now is not the time."

"But he—!" Tygrus protested.

"Lancelot makes a point, dear Tygrus." Dorian said, withdrawing the syringe. Eva wrinkled her nose, then slowly her eyelids began to flutter as the sleep overtook her. Color was already returning to her pallid face, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I knew she would be alright.

"Doesn't mattah." Croc growled, still scowling at the man-cat. "Ya'll dancin' on a beehive."

"I find it fascinating you threaten me so," Dorian said as he stood, "Truly remarkable, like a genuine crocodile, and territorial too, if I might add. Perhaps you wouldn't mind accompanying your lady friend on her visit to my laboratory? I should like to…get to know you both better."

At this, Croc roared and lunged forward as he had with me, snapping his jaw shut inches from Dorian's face. But Dorian was even less fazed than I; he merely smiled coldly, dark eyes narrowing.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then." he said. Croc snarled and huffed, turning and leaving the room, doubtless going back to his sewer tunnels for the time being.

"I don't like him…" Tygrus rumbled in his deep barrel-like chest.

"One wouldn't expect thee to." I said softly, stroking the fur on the back of Tygrus's neck to soothe him.

"Lancelot," Dorian spoke curtly, "While I realize you are most likely battling mixed emotions concerning my course of action in saving your new friend's life, I do expect a full explanation of these events later. In the meantime, however, Tygrus and I must make haste and return to my refuge. I spotted Batman overhead on our way here, and there's no telling what he may be thinking if he saw us. I daresay I wouldn't like him to swoop down upon Tygrus as if he were one of these monstrous rogues of his."

"Of course, Dorian." I replied, following as he and Tygrus swept from the room. "Rook, please keep an eye on Eva until I return."

"Oh, sure. Give me the boring jobs." He muttered, going over to take a seat where he could better see Eva.

"Pleasant to see Mr. Greene is as charming as ever." Dorian muttered.

"Indeed." I answered.

"He also mentioned something about you going on a date the day after tomorrow?" he added in a much too-casual voice, and suddenly Tygrus was all ears, leaning in really close and making hissing snickers. I huffed and walked a tad more dignantly.

"Tis but a beginning of a courtship. Robert is deluded. I've only asked the woman to have coffee with me." I said icily, taking note to smack Rook's head against a wall later.

"Ah." Said Dorian. "She must be a rather remarkable young lady to attract your attention, then. I should like to hear more about this fair princess of yours when we see each other next, Lancelot."

So Dorian also thought I was oblivious to the opposite sex, did he? Strangely, I was starting to pick up on a pattern…Still…

"Of course, Dorian."

He gave me an approving smile. "Don't forget to give her flowers, Lancelot. It's a good way to start opening a woman's heart to you."

"Thank you, sir. Perhaps I could send flowers to her tomorrow…Oh! But I have that meeting with Wayne!" I hissed and ground my teeth in frustration. "Damn it all!"

"Why not make Robert deliver the flowers then?" Dorian suggested innocently.

By God, the man may be a manipulative bastard, but he was a genius!

"Not a bad idea, Dorian, considering Rook doesn't seem to believe that Miss Harker actually exists," I said, allowing myself a small smile. "I think I'll have him do just that!"


	7. Chapter 7: Womanizing Chess Pieces

Chapter Seven: Womanizing Chess Pieces

[Jeanette's POV:]

It seemed so wrong that Tuesday was as bright and cheerful as it turned out to be. It just wasn't right, not for Gotham City.

Needless to say, I was feeling a little paranoid. Jesse and his twisted mystic friend had left me Sunday night, and the next morning I'd had to come up with a good excuse for my behavior that day to feed to Chantelle, who hadn't been too pleased that I'd stormed out, mid-shift, because of Lancelot Pendragon. She'd kept on me yesterday while I worked Heidi's shift, practically breathing down my back as though daring me to walk out again, and the way this morning was shaping up, I thought it was going to be highly likely she'd continue with this method of intimidation. And the fact that Heidi and the other girls kept looking at me with expressions that said I'd brought this on myself wasn't helping in the least. Truth to tell, I wasn't just paranoid that Tuesday. I was getting extremely annoyed, and wanted nothing more than to grab another hardback and hit somebody else over the head with it.

I was busy sorting the requested holds when my opportunity to do so arrived in the front door. I had a stack of materials in my arms for a Gabrielle Lanyon when I heard Marcia make an appreciative noise and the other girls began to murmur and giggle amongst themselves. Rolling my eyes, I set to work shelving the materials, as such noises from the girls usually indicates a male patron arriving that they find attractive. It was of no interest to me. At least, not until I heard my name come up.

"Yyyeah, I'm looking for a Jeanette Harker. Any of you lovely ladies happen to be her?" I heard a man drawl.

Oh. Hell. No.

Slowly I turned around, setting the rest of the materials down on the counter, gritting my teeth as I adjusted my glasses.

The speaker was a young man—perhaps a few years younger than myself—with black and white hair and clothing, done up in a checker pattern. Even his face had been painted with some sort of make-up in the same pattern, making his gray eyes stand out, and he swaggered and grinned like a bizarre, monochromatic peacock with his hands behind his back. The last thing I wanted was for him to talk to me, but when on the job, I've got no choice.

"Who wants to know?" I demanded, placing my hands on my hips. He stopped short, blinking at me like he couldn't really believe I was there, and tilted his head to the side like a bird before grinning again.

"Could be me. Could be my friend." he answered, clicking his tongue and running it over his lips. A sudden urge to take a stapler to his mouth came to mind, and I had to fight it down before I answered.

"Perhaps you might get a proper answer when you tell me who you are and what you're doing here." the words slipped from my mouth with a wonderful touch of irritation, but he didn't seem too fazed as he winked at some of my coworkers.

"Call me Rook, everyone does." He purred, waggling his eyebrows at me, "But see, I got a problem with your terms. I've got a mission to carry out, and I can only do it if I find Miss Jeanette Harker."

This was getting nowhere.

_Oh, just give him what he wants and maybe he'll shut up and leave sooner!_ I thought in annoyance as I crossed my arms and scowled at him.

"One might suppose you'd count yourself in luck then, Mr…Rook, was it? I am Jeanette Harker." I said as calmly as I could. His eyes widened slightly, and his grin got wider as he whipped a beautiful bouquet out from behind his back.

_Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me…_

"I've been asked to deliver these to you, Miss Harker!" he said proudly.

_That's a relief! Talk about a close call!_

"Oh, th-thank you," I stammered, a little stunned that anyone would send _me_ flowers. "Wh-who—"

"My best friend, Lancelot Pendragon! He would have brought them himself but he's in the middle of a business meeting right now, so he asked me to!"

Long dark hair and intense green eyes came to mind, and I gritted my teeth harder. _Him again?_

"And did Mr. Pendragon mention what the occasion was for sending me flowers…?" I ground out between clenched teeth.

"He mentioned you might say something like that," Rook took a step back, rubbed his temples, and cleared his throat. "He said if you did, to tell you that any woman as lovely as you needs no occasion for receiving flowers."

My heart gave a tiny flutter and I found myself, for once, at a loss for words.

_The man is deluded_, I told myself at once, _thinking I'm attractive! And he picks the worst sort of person to deliver flowers!_

_Still…no one's ever sent me flowers before._

"Do you like them?" Rook asked, trying this time for a genuine smile. It made him look a lot younger, like a grade-schooler. I turned and took a look: jasmine with lilies and baby's breath. I'm not one of those women who's good at reading the whole messages-in-the-flowers thing, and if my guess was right, Mr. Pendragon wasn't the sort of man who worried or cared about "flower messages" beyond trying to flatter me. Maybe I would look that up later.

"They're nice," I answered him, sighing and setting the flowers off to the side.

"So is it true that you and Lancey-pants have a date tomorrow?" Rook asked, leaning in all of a sudden with a nasty grin on his face, and I had to resist the urge to heave up my breakfast; he smelled strongly of alcohol.

"It's not a date," I answered irritably, furious that he'd reminded me of it. "Mr. Pendragon and I are just going to share some coffee and talk, as he seems so insistent on getting to know me!"

"Your face is bright red." He stated nonchalantly.

How in the Lord's blessed name did this man walk around this city and NOT get slapped in his face on a regular basis?

"My face is NOT red!" I protested, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.

"Sure, sure. Of course it isn't," he chuckled, waving me off. Then, he seemed to grow serious as he narrowed his eyes at me and asked, "So, is it true? Did you really do something as stupid and suicidal as bashing Joker over the head with a book? If so, I've just got to tell you, you're the most awesome bookworm ever!"

I know he meant it to be a good thing, a compliment of sorts.

Didn't stop me from sending him off with a paperweight to the head and a kick in the rear.


	8. Chapter 8: Coffee And Courtship

Chapter Eight: Coffee And Courtship

[Jeanette's POV:]

After the disastrous occurrence of the previous day, I'd hoped that I could get to my shift and just forget about my eleven o'clock appointment. As it turned out, Heidi and the other girls had a different scheme in mind. I'd no sooner walked in the door than Marcia was appraising my choice of wardrobe.

"Jay, don't you think that's a little…bland?" she asked timidly.

"Bland?" I repeated, arching an eyebrow as I walked behind the Check-Out and Return counters.

"Well, she could make it work if she puts on a little make-up…" I heard Leslie remark thoughtfully. I set my purse down and turned to face them, squaring my jaw, my arms crossing on their own.

"What in the world are you two going on about?" I asked evenly.

"Oh, you know!" Heidi giggled, coming over to join them, a coffee thermos in hand. "Your lunch date with the gorgeous Lancelot Pendragon!"

"It's not a date." I said firmly. "We are just going to have a quick cup of coffee and he's going to apologize for offending me the other day."

"Yeah, and he's going to apologize by inviting you to go out on his yacht for the weekend!" Leslie waggled her eyebrows at me, a disgusting and somewhat male-typical trait that didn't work on her.

"I very much doubt that Mr. Pendragon owns a yacht, and even if he did, I'm quite sure he wouldn't invite me to go on it." I groaned and rubbed my temples, feeling a headache already setting in. What had I done to deserve this?

"So what did the flowers yesterday mean, huh?" Marcia said pointedly.

To be honest, I still wasn't quite sure. I'd taken them home, put them in a vase with water, and set them out on the counter and puzzled over it for a while. Giving flowers to a woman you barely knew sent out, in my opinion, wrong or skewed signals. It was a gesture of courtship, and one typically implemented after at least a fair number of meetings between the man and woman. Mr. Pendragon and I had only met once, and the gesture seemed almost presumptuous of him, as though he expected that I acknowledged a courtship initiated.

Which of course, I didn't.

Still, if he'd meant it to be a further apology and just a kind reminder that I'd lost enough of my sanity to agree to this…this _not_-date, then it was perfectly acceptable.

Much to my astonishment, Chantelle appeared like a ghost nearby. "What is going on here, ladies?"

"Nothing…" a couple of us replied, myself included.

"Trying to give Jeanette advice for her coffee with Mr. Pendragon this afternoon." Heidi said mischieviously.

"This afternoon?" Chantelle demanded, turning the full-force of her glare on me. I could tell she still wasn't forgiving me for storming out the other day.

"It happened after I walked out the other day. Mr. Pendragon accosted me in the parking lot and insisted I join him for coffee at eleven today. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer." I explained.

I'd half-hoped she would tell me I couldn't go, give me an excuse to call the whole thing off, but Chantelle's expression lit up and she suddenly smiled. Clearly the man had left a rather powerful impression on her.

"Oh, I see. Well, I suppose you're a lucky one, Jeanette." she said.

_What…?_

_ WHAT?_

"Mr. Pendragon is a rather handsome man, isn't he?" Chantelle mused, "You'll have to tell him the staff said hello to him when you meet up today."

I suppressed a shriek of anger and nodded stiffly, turning my back on the lot of them under the pretense of clocking in.

They were conspiring against me, all of them!

Eleven o'clock came much sooner than I'd expected, and I was standing outside my Starbucks, totally unprepared for whatever would occur. Despite my earlier desire to get out of this arrangement, I still caught myself glancing at my watch every thirty seconds or so as I watched the parking lot, waiting for Lancelot Pendragon to appear. What was more, I felt the need to turn and examine my hair in the window, as though he might somehow find it displeasing.

_You're worrying too much, Jeanette!_ I snapped at myself, and with that reasoning, I managed to retain my dignity.

For all of two minutes.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer, and I turned, squinting at my reflection in the window, fussing with my high ponytail. Why couldn't it lay the way I wanted it to?

"I find the natural lay of your locks rather appealing in its unattended state, if I may be so bold."

I stood up straight immediately, freezing at the sight of the reflection behind me in the window, and I spun on my heel to regard Lancelot Pendragon. Good lord, but he was still just as stunning as before!

"I wasn't aware I'd asked for your opinion, Mr. Pendragon." I said calmly.

"You didn't." he replied truthfully.

A lengthy and awkward silence stretched between us until he reached out and opened the door to the café behind me, gesturing inward.

"After you, milady." he murmured quietly, green eyes staring at me.

Well, whatever misgivings I was harboring about the man, I simply couldn't deny the fact that he'd been raised a proper gentleman, and I smiled in approval as I stepped forward into the café. He followed at a quick pace, as though worried I might slip away if he let me get too far ahead. Bradley was at the counter and waiting when we stepped in, and his eyes widened as he took us in, obviously surprised.

"Er…how can I help you, Mr. Pendragon, Miss Harker?" he asked, giving me the impression that the second he got his fingers on his cell phone he'd be text messaging everyone he knew to gossip.

"A venti mocha hazelnut latte if you please, Bradley." I answered with a sigh.

He tapped a few keys on his register before turning to Lancelot Pendragon. "And for you, sir?"

"I'll have the same. Oh, and I'll be picking up the tab, Bradley."

I spun, about to object, but he pressed two fingers against my lips and shook his head.

"No, don't start, Miss Harker. I told you this was going to be my treat, and I cannot very well hold up to that promise if you insist on paying for your own."

"And the rich wonder why common people get frustrated when you just toss your money around." I muttered.

"You assume I fall under the umbrella of rich stereotypes, Miss Harker."

"You aren't providing me a great deal of evidence to the contrary, Mr. Pendragon."

At this, he smiled and inclined his head, thrusting a twenty at Bradley. "Touché, milady."

"Uh, right. I'll have those right out to you, then." Bradley murmured, quickly turning to start preparing the lattes. There was silence for a few moments, and I started to feel uncomfortable. I didn't know what sort of conversation to start with Mr. Pendragon, but before I could open my mouth in the attempt, he saved me the trouble.

"What sort of books do you enjoy, Miss Harker?"

I wasn't about to just give him all the information he might have wanted, so I couldn't help but try to counter with another question. "What makes you assume that I enjoy books of any sort, Mr. Pendragon?"

"Your place of employment is a library, sweet woman. One can usually count on a woman becoming a librarian for one of two reasons. Either she can find no other employment and is desperate enough to settle for such a career, or she must, to some degree, be a bibliophile." he answered, arching an eyebrow.

Ah, he wasn't just a pretty rich boy without half a brain after all.

"A very astute deduction, sir." I commented, offering him a half-smile.

A corner of his mouth quirked upward and he inclined his head. "Thou art possessed of a flattering tongue, yet thou wouldst make an insistence of avoiding a question asked."

"Ah…why are you so curious in regards to my reading preferences?"

"You are unlike most other women I've encountered, Miss Harker. I would know you better."

My face grew quite hot, and I averted my gaze, only to find Bradley frozen in the act of setting down our coffee, watching us with wide eyes. My irritation bubbled to the surface again and I snatched my coffee, spun on my heel, and turned to the condiment stand, barely maintaining my conduct. Setting my latte down, I pulled the lid off and proceeded to add a little extra half and half. I was just pausing in the act of grabbing a sugar packet, when I remembered why I rarely added my own sugar. It must have caught Pendragon's attention, because he was suddenly behind me, asking what was wrong.

"It's just that I can never seem to add the right amount of sugar," I replied. "Either it turns out to be too much or too little."

"If I may make a recommendation, try three sugars." he said calmly, adding to his own latte. "I find, when teaspoons are unavailable for measuring with, three packets of sugar always does the trick for me."

"Always three?" I challenged, raising my eyebrows at him.

"Always." he answered, the other corner of his mouth turning up to match as he stirred his drink. Now that I was able to get a good look at him, he was rather charming when he smiled. It made him look far less forbidding and distant. I pulled three sugars from the stand and added them to my latte, stirring as we turned and walked to an unoccupied table. He pulled out a chair for me, which was surprising. I'd figured out that he was polite to an extreme rarely seen in this day and age, but he continued to act more and more the gentleman.

I liked it.

Nodding my thanks, I settled into the chair, took my stirring stick out and replaced the lid on my latte, taking a wary sip. To my utter surprise, it was wonderful!

"Mm!" I nearly shrieked, "You're right! It's perfect! How did you know that?"

His lips curled slowly upward in a stunning smile as he considered me, and I chided myself for paying attention to his mouth of all things, because I almost missed his answer in the process.

"Hmm…that's a secret, Miss Harker."

"Oh?"

"And speaking of secrets, I'm keen on knowing a few of yours. Starting with my initial question."

Well, I certainly had to give him brownie points for persistence!

"My secrets, huh?" I chuckled, taking another sip of the latte.

"Yes. So. If thou art willing, 'twould please mine ears to be graced with a response forthcoming." He studied me carefully over the rim of his cup.

"Well, clearly you're a reader of Shakespeare." I began, arching an eyebrow at him again, and when he nodded, I felt a tad more bold. "I do admire his work extensively. Typically my fare tends to lean more in the direction of Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, the Brontë sisters, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Alexandre Dumas, Oscar Wilde, Mary Shelley…"

Suddenly I realized I'd begun ranting and I cut myself off and ducked my head, feeling my face grow hot again. But to my surprise, he only chuckled good-naturedly.

"The classics," he remarked, "I thought so! And I am not at all surprised that you mentioned Jane Austen first. Your manner and bearing are both among the many traits you share with her heroines."

"You had me pegged for an Austen reader, did you?" I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted, so I merely sipped at my latte again.

"Call it…instinct." he answered, leaning back in his chair. "I admire a woman who reads Austen."

Well now. That remark certainly made me feel like I was standing in a very large spotlight. _What in the world does he mean, talking to me like that?_

"And while we're on such topics, Miss Harker, what do you think of Austen's view of a relationship between a man and a woman? In the area of courtship in particular."

Oh, now it was getting to a place that made me really uncomfortable.

"Mr. Pendragon, I'm not sure—" I started, moving to vacate my chair, but faster than my eyes could follow, he reached out, gently placed a hand over mine and gave me a pleading look with his green eyes.

"Please, I meant not to offend thee. I merely wished to know your thoughts. I still do, if you are willing to bestow them to me. If not, say the word and I will withdraw my query."

My heart started hammering against my ribcage as lines of electric fire began to tingle along my hand and up my arm, and I lowered myself back into the seat without thinking. "No, I just…I wasn't expecting a question like that." I said slowly, and when he only continued to watch me as though he was worrying I would bolt again, I proceeded to answer, "I believe Austen lays out some very important ideas about courtship that have been abandoned and forgotten in this day and age. She says it without really saying it. A courtship plays upon the idea that women are supposed to be beautiful, yet mysterious. A woman is supposed to have secrets…and a man looking to discover what those secrets are must court her. He has to be willing to initiate a pursuit, and still be considerate and courteous. He must show her he is a gentleman, and make it known that he pursues her secrets, lightly. He is not prying in such a way that she might find it offensive, but will instead, bit by bit, indulge his curiosity without giving so much away that he loses interest in the chase. That, according to Jane Austen, is the proper means of initiating and executing courtship."

I exhaled, feeling flushed and slightly worn from my speech. I hoped it would satisfy him, but that was only my interpretation of Austen's themes. Who knew how anyone would respond to that, let alone Lancelot Pendragon?

"I think your assessment is right on the mark, Miss Harker, and I agree with it most strongly."

_Well, I wasn't entirely expecting that, but I guess it's not too surprising._

"If that's the case, Mr. Pendragon, would you explain to me the flowers you sent me the other day?" I challenged. "Flowers after one meeting? One might say typically that would imply you wish to court me."

"I can see you read me as easily as you do your books," he replied smoothly, squeezing my hand in an extremely familiar manner, "And you are quite right, Miss Harker. I wish to court you, if you would allow it."

"What?" I blurted out, withdrawing my hand at once, nearly spilling my coffee. "You what?"

"Miss Harker, if I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." he pleaded.

"I-I-I won't be w-won over with Shakespeare quotes, M-Mr. P-Pendragon!" I stammered, flustered.

"I mean what I said," he insisted. "I wish to court you, if you would allow it."

I couldn't find an answer for that. He was handsome, and a gentleman, and clearly well-read, but…still…

_Dear lord, I've lost my mind. First I attack the Joker and Colonel Rojas and now I cannot bring myself to allow an attractive man showing interest in _me to _pursue a courtship!_ I thought, my head spinning.

_Darn it, Jeanette Marie Harker!_ my stubborn voice snapped back at that thought, _For once in your life, do something that's right and won't make you a total loss in the area of dating!_

"Well…Mr. Pendragon—"

"Please. Call me Lancelot." he said gently, brushing his lips against my knuckles. It was abruptly far more difficult to breathe, and for a moment I had to focus on inhaling deeply before I responded.

"Lancelot…" I started slowly, "I do hope you realize that I intend to keep this courtship as close as possible to what we've discussed."

"I would have it no other way," he said quickly, "May I assume then, that you agree to my request to court you?"

"Yes…I just…I find it most shocking to think that any man should take an interest in me in that manner." I murmured.

"I don't see why you'd think that." he said. "I find you irresistibly captivating."

Unable to think of a response, I stirred my latte, gently rotating my list and staring at the surface of the table. An awkward silence stretched between us, and Lancelot leaned back in his chair again, adjusting his collar as he watched me. I was still reeling from what he'd said, when he asked me a question.

"Sorry?" I said, looking back up at him again. "What did you say?"

"I was just asking if there were any other books besides classical literature that you enjoy." he said gently.

"Oh, plenty. I do tend to read a lot of fantasy, fairy tales, historical fiction…mystery in particular."

"Romance?"

"Not anything new. Most recent authors seem to confuse the category of romance with that of smut. I detest such trashy writing."

"Thank heavens. We might have had a problem if you'd said anything to the contrary."

"Oh, would we now?"

"What are you reading currently, if I may ask?"

I thought back to what I'd left lying in the passenger side seat of my car. The pile had grown a little since he'd last followed me and asked me to join him for coffee.

"The Lost Symbol, by Dan Brown…The Fires of Heaven, by Robert Jordan…The Mists of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley…Oh! And Cry Wolf, by Patricia Briggs!"

He'd been taking another sip of his latte when he paused, green eyes flicking up at me so fast I felt my heart skip a beat. He lowered his cup slowly, eyebrows raising.

"Cry Wolf, you say?" he asked. Something about his voice had changed, and I half-wondered if that was disapproval I was hearing.

"Urban fantasy," I clarified, wondering if he'd not heard of it, "Focused mostly on werewolves."

I knew it was stupid to tell anyone about what I read, but his eyebrows raised higher and his voice became frigid, making me feel more a fool than ever I had before in my entire life.

"Werewolves." he declared simply.

"Yes, werewolves," I answered, "Is there something wrong with the subject matter?"

"Urban legend," he stated before I even finished speaking, "One that circulated through Europe and America for centuries before finally becoming glorified by the modern-day society of the States. Used to be werewolves were considered no better than witches, back during the time of the Salem and witch-burning; enormous, flesh-eating men cursed by the changing face of the moon. Now, they're considered the mortal enemies of vampires, can transform at will, and live like _pimps_—" he spat the word out like it was dirt in his mouth, "—making love to whomever they wish with no one any the wiser. People like Patricia Briggs only further this thought. It's ridiculous."

"You seem rather opinionated on the topic, Lancelot." I remarked. This was certainly different; I hadn't expected to push the right button and get this side of him revealed so soon.

"…I detest the circulation of any sort of urban legend." he declared.

"And why is that, pray tell?" I asked, leaning forward.

"There is no solid evidence to prove any of them actually occurred," he said coldly, "Look at some of the urban legends concerning gruesome death. For instance that of Bloody Mary. What proof is there that she's nothing more than the addle-brained concoction of adolescents taking drugs and attempting to frighten their peers?"

"The legend of Bloody Mary isn't the same as those of werewolves." I shot back. "True, there may be no proof to most urban legends, but you might as well say that all fiction is detestable, simply because it's easier to prove it didn't happen than whether it might have or will."

"Written fiction is one thing," he answered, "Urban legends that are passed on by word of mouth, only growing more twisted and warped and fantastic with each retelling in an attempt to frighten those hearing them and develop a sense of paranoia? I despise them."

"Well then," I huffed, astonished at this change in his manner, "One can easily conclude you were the only boy at summer camp who had no tolerance for listening to ghost stories at the fire."

"I never went to summer camp." he said briskly.

"That would explain it." I chuckled. Frankly, given what I'd seen of him, I would have been in shock if he said he had gone to summer camp as a child. He merely smiled again, his warm personality back in place once more.

"I should like to see you sometime again soon, Miss Harker."

"Please, call me Jeanette…Lancelot."

"Very well then. Would an actual lunch sometime this weekend be feasible with you, Jeanette?"

I smirked, pretending to pull out my planner and flip through it. "Hmm…I'm not sure…"

"Friday, perhaps?" he suggested.

"Hmm, no. What about Sunday?" I answered, feeling like being difficult.

"Too long of a wait. Saturday, then?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know…" I said coyly.

"If Sunday's the only day that can work for you," he said gently, leaning back again, "Then I can make that work and I'll deal with the wait."

"Excellent," I said, trying not to sound too pleased, "Sunday it is, then."

"And what would be the establishment we choose to dine at? Do you have a preference?" he asked, pulling a palm pilot out of his breast pocket and tapping at it with a stylus.

"I like Italian." I answered, shrugging.

"A wonderful choice." he offered me another of those dazzling smiles, and my stomach began flopping. I tried to look in another direction, worried I was making myself look too much the schoolgirl, when I saw the gray sky outside and grimaced.

"What is the matter, Jeanette?" he asked.

"Oh, it's raining." I answered. "Raining, perfectly good weather for a book, and I have to go back to work."

"Detestable," he nodded, sniffing. "And speaking of such, I won't be keeping you much longer. Doubtless you need to get back to the library, and I won't have you getting in trouble on my behalf."

"I'm not sure how much trouble I would get in," I sighed, "The girls were practically begging that I say "hello" to you from them. They were under the impression I was 'finally going on a date' and needed to barrage me with advice all morning."

"Ah." he said uncomfortably.

We stood and started to head out of the café, and to my surprise, before we got out in the rain, something heavy draped across my shoulders. I glanced up in surprise and saw him smiling at me.

"Take my coat, sweet Jeanette," he said gently, "I would despise myself ever after were I coarse enough not to offer thee shelter from the offending rain."

"But Mr. Pendragon—!"

"Lancelot," he corrected me, "And I would insist. Worry not, I have others. Keep it, if you please. It would make me happy."

Swallowing, I stepped toward my Neon, pulling out my key ring, and he stood by the driver side door, ready to open it for me.

"Your coach awaits, milady," he said in a voice he was clearly forcing himself to keep serious.

"You don't have to do that, you know," I muttered, sliding inside and situating myself. He offered me another smile, then his eyes slipped to my passenger seat and narrowed. I glanced over, and realized he was looking at my copy of 'Cry Wolf.'

"It's not as bad as you think, Lancelot." I said defensively. Those green eyes slipped back to me, and softened.

"Please, Miss Harker," he said in a sad voice, "Do us both a favor, and do not read that."

"It's Jeanette," I corrected, "And I read what I wish."

He looked crushed, but nodded and sighed. "Of course, milady. Thou art possessed of a strong will, and I am but powerless to convince thee otherwise. But please keep within mind it would please me greatly were you to set aside that novel in particular."

"I'll bear that in mind, but I make no promises to cease, Lancelot."

"As you wish, Jeanette. I bid thee farewell."

And with that, he shut my car door and stood watching me as I drove off, remaining where he was long after he disappeared from sight of my rearview mirror.


	9. Chapter 9: Dorian's Summons

Chapter Nine: Dorian's Summons

[Lance's POV:]

My moods had been mixed ever since the coffee.

On one hand, I would experience moments of giddy delight and the daydreams of a hopeless romantic at the thought of Miss Harker agreeing to let me court her.

But shortly afterwards my thoughts always seemed to return to the novel she said she was reading, and my mood would darken. I'd meant what I'd said about my opinions on most modern literature concerning werewolves. Much of it was so misleading that the media and disgusting people such as Stephanie Meyer had come to glamorize something that would just as soon kill them all, given the chance. I of course, would never stoop to murdering humans and I refuse to take a life unless someone I love is at risk. But as for the born lycanthians such as Miss Eva…well, I cannot speak for them. I trust Miss Eva, but I still am wary at times.

Simply out of a sheer desire to see what in the world the writing of Patricia Briggs was filling Miss Harker's head with, I had sent out for a copy after returning home from the coffee, and waited for Gerard to arrive any moment with the paperback and set it on my desk. In the meantime, I was half-heartedly nibbling at a bagel as I looked over a business proposition from a Malik Knowles, wondering why in the world he was just now choosing to reach out to me. I'd sent him an invitation to consider becoming partners almost six months prior, but he was only now responding. Part of me riled at that, but I managed to keep my temper in check. After all, he probably received several such propositions a year and got to them each in turn.

I was double-checking the e-mail, trying to find any possible loopholes that would give Knowles the advantage, when I heard the soft sound of footsteps on the carpet outside the office, drawing ever closer to the door. Fabric, barely making a sound, rustled as an arm raised.

"Enter!" I nearly barked the word, and there was a hesitation, which caught my interest. Had it been Gerard, he wouldn't have missed a beat. After all, he's been working for me long enough he knows how well I hear things. A moment later the door swung inward to admit a familiar checker-faced visage.

"You were actually planning on knocking?" I asked, startled, nearly letting my bagel hit the floor.

"Very funny…" Rook growled, staggering toward my desk, making me nearly crush the keyboard beneath my fingers.

"Robert, if you are drunk again—" I started to warn him, falling short when I looked closer. There were dark rings under his eyes, which looked wild and somewhat frightened, his breath wheezed painfully each time he inhaled, his hands were shaking violently, unable to get a solid grip on either of his guns, his canine teeth had elongated into sharp fangs, and though his face was still in its usual paint, I could see his neck had gone very pale.

"Robert," I asked warily, "Have you taken your pills?"

"Yeah…Last night. Shouldn't have worn off so soon…" he murmured. "Not even been twelve hours, right…?"

"When did you turn in last night?"  
"Ten."

I glanced at the clock on my computer screen, then shook my head. "8:24."

"Shit." he murmured, collapsing onto one of the chairs. He tried clasping his hands in his lap, but they were shaking too much even for that and he resorted to gripping his knees. It only made his tremors look all the worse. "You still have my back-up supply, right?"

I nodded again, opening the hidden drawer in my desk and drawing out a plain plastic bottle that I passed to him. He took it with a grateful expression, then uncapped it and jammed four of the tablets into his mouth, shocking me.

"Robert! You know you're only supposed to take two, twice a day!"

"Effects have been wearing off sooner and sooner," he murmured after a tremendous gulp, still wheezing.

"You can't possibly tell me you're becoming immune to the tablets—"

"I think so…"

"…Robert, that's dangerous. And increasing the number you take at a time is only going to make matters worse."

"What do you want me to do?" he snapped, the outer rings of his gray eyes starting to go red. "I've got no other way of keeping it under control without hurting people! Some of us aren't natural one-with-The-Force, zen-guzzling, inner-peace hippies, rich boy!"

I merely stared at him long and hard, refusing to blink, and leaned back in my chair, resting my elbows on its arms and steepling my fingers as I waited. He was still breathing hard, but within seconds the red glow receded from his eyes and he calmed down, his expression slowly leaving anger and moving into ashamed disbelief.

"I…I…Lance, I'm sorry." he murmured, getting to his feet. "I didn't mean it."

"Codswallop, Robert. You meant every word of it."

He faltered, then hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"Quite alright." said I, waving a hand. "I've already forgiven you. But I think if your problem is becoming so serious that you're going to resort to using four tablets at a time, we need to contact Dorian. You will exhaust your supply in under a month at that rate, so we need the dosage increased."

Rook chuckled dryly. "The guy makes panther-men from test tubes, tames werewolves, finds blood substitutes for vampires…what's he going to do next, inter-species breeding?"

I shot him a grim frown, pausing in mid-motion of dialing Dorian's phone. "Don't even joke about that, Robert. Knowing Emile Dorian, were he to hear those words slip from thy mouth, more likely as not, he would employ thy suggestion. Don't ever make light jokes about that man."

The phone answered on the second ring, a cool British voice surrounding me with melodious, hypnotic tones.

"Ahh, Lancelot my boy! Wonderful to hear from you! I was wondering when you were going to call."

"Questions about my rendezvous with Miss Harker yesterday can wait, Dorian." I responded a tad curtly. "Right now I have more pressing matters to discuss with you."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Robert is beginning to grow immune to the effects of your plasma pills."

"Ahh, yes. I was wondering when that would occur."

I bristled, the hair on the back of my neck starting to rise in fury. "You what? You _knew_ this would happen?"  
"Of course I knew." he answered calmly. "I had to begin with a lower plasma level, to ensure that Robert wouldn't suffer any ill effects during the adjustment his body had to make. It was only a matter of time until he started to become immune and need a higher dosage of the pills."

I struggled for a moment, trying to keep from crushing the phone in my hand. "Then what exactly do you propose we do, sir?" I growled out the last word.

"You're going to have to bring Robert here for me to examine him further, of course." came the level response. "Otherwise, heavens knows how in the world I'm going to know the proper adjustment to make to the medicine."

He had a point, Hell take him. "Very well," I replied, "I'll arrange with Gerard to ready the jet and we'll fly him out there."  
"Just a moment there, Lancelot," Dorian forestalled me, "I do have a condition for this."

Of course. There's always a catch.

"I would prefer you at least bring Miss Eva along, if not her scaly friend as well."

"There art no manner with which thee can induce me to drag along Waylon Jones, Dorian." I growled.

"I didn't think to delusion myself that there was, Lancelot." he replied smoothly. "But you must bring Miss Eva along as well. For her own sake as much as Robert's."

The line clicked and went dead, and I shut the phone off, my mind darting from Eva, resting and recovering in one of the penthouse rooms, to Rook, standing before me with a haunted look on his face.

There was _always_ a catch with Emile Dorian, damn him.

"Well?" Rook asked worriedly.

"He'll do it, but we have to bring Eva with us." I answered heavily.

"…Always something, isn't there?" he muttered.

"Always." I replied. I turned to the intercom, about to page Gerard to make arrangements for the trip to the island. I tried to tell myself that I was doing the right thing, that this was supposed to help both of my friends in the long run, but I only felt a sense of impending doom hanging about my person as I did so, and it told me I was about to make things severely worse for us all…


	10. Chapter 10: The Halls of Arkham

Chapter Ten: The Halls of Arkham

[Jeanette's POV:]

Friday dawned, dark, gloomy, and covered in a steady shower of rain. Soft thunder outside the window had woken me first, followed by the screech of my alarm clock, belting out, "_We'll make you hap-pyyyyy_!" This time I slapped the flat of my palm down on the blasted thing without looking and fumbled around for my glasses. I wasn't, however, totally ready to get out of bed just yet.

I still found it hard to believe that I'd even agreed to let Mr. Pendragon court me, and it seemed surreal somehow, both terrifying and exciting all at once. I let this strange, exhilarating feeling consume me and I began going through the motions in this, my day off, with no real sense of time or awareness for what I was doing. I could only vaguely recall taking a shower and dressing in very casual, house-only clothes, I had no idea what I ate for breakfast, if indeed, I did eat, and it wasn't until I had curled up in a fleece throw on my couch to think some more about this courtship that I realized I was well on my way to becoming obsessed.

_What in the world has he done to me?_ I thought in shock, on my way to becoming angry both with Mr. Pendragon for consuming my thoughts and with myself for allowing my mind to be consumed. Growing irritated, I jumped off the couch just long enough to snatch up my copy of "The Fires Of Heaven." (I absolutely refused to touch "The Mists of Avalon," or anything Arthurian in nature, as I'd most likely dwell on the matter of courtship further.) Hopefully, catching up on my reading would take my mind off of other things for a while.

Sometime later, I'm not entirely sure how much later, there came a knock at my door. Snapped out of my visions of Robert Jordan's world, I marked my page, set the book down, and got to my feet. The knock came again, and I strode to the door, keeping the throw tightly wrapped around me. I started to reach for the doorknob, then hesitated, a wave of paranoia washing over me. Clenching my jaw, I chanced a look out of the peephole, then gave a sigh of relief and opened the door.

"H-hi J-Jean…W-wouldna have a moment t' spare for your little cous, wouldja?"

Of my cousins, Catriona happens to be the youngest, but you wouldn't know that by looking at her. Her confident posture and walk coupled with her gorgeous face often get her mistaken for a 22-year-old, and most people are shocked to learn she's only 16. As always, she had her violently red hair spiked up, all her piercings in, and was dressed in her usual attire of dark gray shorts, halter top, thigh-high combat boots, and her trailing long trenchcoat.

But something in her nervous expression shattered that usually confident appearance.

"Of course! Get inside, you little hot-headed goat! You're going to get sick out there in that rain." I griped, pulling her in by the elbow. She gave me a weak smile in response.

"Neh, you know I donna get sick. Cold doesna bother me." she chuckled half-heartedly, and I paused, unable to find words to say. After all, special 'gifts' ran rampant in the Macallister blood, and where her older brother Jesse had his magic, Catriona had…well…

I watched carefully as she hugged her arms, as though about to rub warmth back into them, but instead, steam started to rise off her trenchcoat. Within moments, there wasn't a sign to be found anywhere that Cat had been outside in the rain. She gave me a smug look, and I had to bite my tongue.

"Why are you here, Cat? What's going on? Do come in, sit. I'll get you something to drink." I said, but she shook her head slowly.

"Huh-uh. I need yer help, Jeannie." she replied. "It's about Jesse."

I paused, my senses going on high alert. "Jesse? What's wrong? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

Catriona bit her lip and cast her eyes down, fidgeting. She does this whenever she feels especially reluctant or nervous about something, and has been this way since she was little. Thankfully, I knew full well how to handle it.

"Cat, if your brother is in trouble, you need to tell me. If you want to help him, being quiet gets us all nowhere." I tried to be gentle but firm as well, so she could fully grasp how serious I was, and her soft brown eyes darted upward.

"Jesse's in Arkham." she mumbled it so fast and low that if I hadn't seen the corner of her mouth moving, I would have been convinced I'd only imagined the words. But I almost wished that I had. My stomach went ice cold and I was swamped with dread in mere seconds.

"Arkham Asylum?" I murmured. "How…?"

"I donna ken," Catriona spoke low and fast, her Scottish accent becoming thicker in her distress, "But I'm willin' t' bet me giddy aunt tha' Spellbinder fella's involved. I went t' try t' get Jesse oot o' there, but I was told I need someone o'er 18 t' sign th' form. An' I figured t' ask ye, since Mum canna come oot an' Sunny's in school."

The whole thing seemed so surreal and impossible, that the first thing out of my mouth was, "_You _ought to be in school too, Cat."

"Donna start with tha', Jean. I donna have th' time."

"…You say all you need is a release form signed?" I asked. "Seems a bit too easy to me."

"I guess they believe Jes when he says he's no' crazy. Mind, I think he did a little…persuadin' on them. But I donna care. I need yer help. So…?"

For a long moment I was caught in my indecision. After all, if Jesse's magic had had something to do with their consent to release him to his family, there was always the possibility that they would snap out of it later and it would only complicate things. Still, I hated the idea of any family being caught in the madhouse. I sighed, sagging my shoulders in defeat.

"Let me get my coat."

The drive up to the asylum was largely uneventful, and I found a parking spot with ease. Overall, the whole thing seemed a bit too convenient, and I was beginning to get unnerved by it. Everything was going so smoothly, sooner or later it was bound to collapse down around our ears into a total disaster. But when I relayed my concerns to Cat, she only laughed and waved me off.

"Donna be silly, Jeannie. Ye're here now, so it's gonna be fine." she said firmly, though I could have sworn she had a nervous expression for a brief moment. Not that I could blame her. I didn't exactly want to be here, not when this drama could fall apart at any time…and not when I remembered Joker had yet to escape the asylum since my encounter with him. I hoped and prayed that our luck would hold fast and we'd be in and out again with Jesse in tow with little trouble or delay, but a sense of dread began to take root deep in my stomach, and I was unable to shake the feeling.

We were let in almost at once, and I figured it had to owe to the way in which the guard glanced at Catriona; he probably recognized her from earlier. He merely looked at us sideways, but I still felt the gooseflesh rise on my arms beneath my sleeves. The entire asylum was huge, with catwalks and open ceilings on the floors until the roof slanted almost six stories above. Even from the ground floor I could see rain sliding down the glass in the skylight windows, which incensed my feelings of unease. The atmosphere was tense with a damp chill lingering on the air that permeated both skin and clothes. A few quick glances at some of the orderlies only confirmed this, as they wore thick, heavy uniforms, probably to keep the chill at bay. I hadn't expected Arkham to be completely silent, but it wasn't loud either. Voices carried here and there, but it was the sort of muted sound of a community college library, where the law of silence was never stated, but enforced by the same influence that ruled the building.

"Cheery place, innit?" Cat muttered next to me, starting off in a certain direction, obviously knowing where she needed to go.

"If you are referring to Edgar Allen Poe's particular brand of cheer," I sniffed, biting back my growing anxiety, "Then I suppose you've hit the mark, Cat."

We continued the rest of the walk in an apprehensive silence until we reached an office door, where we were stopped by a guard.

"Do you have an appointment with Dr. Strange?" he demanded, cur that he was.

"Catriona Macallister, sir," my cousin swooped upon him at once, flashing him a dazzling smile and batting her eyes slowly, "I was here earlier, an' the good doctor said I was needin' an older family member t' sign my brother's release form."

I was less than thrilled to discover my younger cousin was learning forms of flattery that belonged to the protagonists of many a Nora Roberts' novel, but I had to admit her flirtations seemed to do the trick. The guard swallowed as a flush rose in his cheekbones and he adjusted the collar of his uniform, though whether from discomfort with the atmosphere or from Cat's unexpected provocation, I dared not think about. He gave me a glance and began to open his mouth, but I was already a step ahead and produced my driver's license from my wallet, thrusting the ID at him a bit more hostile than was perhaps necessary.

"You two are related?" he asked, glancing up from my license to look between us.

"I've kept my mother's maiden name." I answered jerkily, irritated. "Now if you'd please let us in to see the doctor, it would be most appreciated."

And much to my surprise, he straightened up instantly, handed my license back, and stepped aside to let us through. Cat gave me a wide-eyed look, though what for, I've not the foggiest notion, and we stepped into the office of Dr. Hugo Strange.

The office was a large room with a ceiling that sat on the same level as perhaps the third floor, and only a few windows set high into one of the walls, filtering in very little light indeed. There was a coat rack on the opposite wall, a few bookshelves, some filing cabinets, an armchair, and an oblong, waist-high, flat desk. And sitting at that flat desk was a rather portly, balding man whose eyes were hidden behind a pair of reflective glasses. He looked up from something he was writing as we came in, and a tiny smile slowly spread over his face.

"Ahh, Miss Macallister. I wasn't expecting to see you back so soon." he remarked.

Now I'm not one to judge, but something in me had a knee-jerk reaction to this man's presence and I knew at once I disliked him intensely.

"Aye, Professor." Catriona said seriously, striding up to his desk, "I've brought me older cousin, Jeannie."

"Forgive me for prying, Miss Macallister," Strange said, "But why exactly, could your mother not be troubled to come out here?"

"She's ill." Cat answered quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly, if the smile on the psychiatrist's face was anything to judge by.

"My apologies," he responded, not sounding sorry or sympathetic in the least.

"Ye did say I could bring any relative over twenty-one—" she began.

"So I did." Strange replied indulgently, before his head turned just a fraction to focus on me. "You said this is your cousin?" He rose to stand from his desk, though there was truly little height difference when he did so, and extended his hand to me. "It is a pleasure, Miss…"

"Harker," I replied, shaking his hand only out of formality, "Jeanette Harker."

Black eyebrows rose high on Strange's forehead, and his voice took on an unusually interested tone as he asked, "Jeanette…Harker, did you say?"

I snatched my hand back, decided I was definitely uncomfortable, and gave a tiny nod. I disliked his smile the moment it had come on his face, and now I liked it even less than before. "Yes, Harker. I've kept my mother's maiden name."

"You wouldn't happen to be the same Miss Harker who had the…misfortune to encounter one of my patients on his most recent escape, would you?" he spoke with the distinct curiosity of a child who suspects he's about to be given a toy he'd been begging for. I clenched my jaw before answering.

"Yes…"

"Most fascinating." the shrink's smile grew as he steepled his fingers together. I opened my mouth, ready to cut short any further remarks he may have made, but to my astonishment, he merely turned and pulled a paper forward on his desk and held up a pen. "I do take it you wish to the sign the release form for your cousin?"

I snapped my mouth shut again, determined not to mess things up now, and I strode over, taking the pen from him. I scanned the form briefly, found no loopholes or hidden clauses, and signed in a bold stroke on the dotted line at the bottom. Immediately I thrust the paper in Strange's face, and he took it as though in a daze, looking pointedly at my signature.

"If you require viewing my identification—"

"No, no," he said, not looking up from my signature, "That won't be necessary, Miss Harker. No, all is in order, and I have everything I need right here."

He looked up at me as he finished his sentence and I felt the sensation of cold fingers dragging down my spine. It made no sense, for there was no reason behind it but sheer intuition, but something about this man was simply _wrong_. I couldn't explain to anyone why or how, but he was very, very dangerous.

"Mr. Powell," he said abruptly, and the guard who'd been standing outside the door stepped in, "Would you please escort these two ladies to cell 322 for Mr. Macallister's release?"

The guard nodded dumbly, motioned at us, and we followed him to the door, my mind still screaming at me that this was all too convenient.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Macallister, Miss Harker." the psychiatrist called after us in a too-pleasant voice, "I do hope you both have a…relatively pleasant day."

I suppressed a shudder and picked up the pace, not looking back until Powell had shut the door behind us.

"Well, this way, ladies. If you'll follow me, please?" he cleared his throat, puffing out his chest a little as he snuck a glance at Cat. Fighting back a growl and utterly disappointed I couldn't launch a missile at Powell's head, we strode along behind him as he led us up to the third floor, passing other orderlies and a few patients along the way. I kept my eyes forward, focusing on Powell's back so I could avoid the temptation to stare, but my cousin was having no such luck.

"Jeannie…" I heard her murmur as we passed an orderly leading a thin, tall man with long dark hair and icy blue eyes.

"Keep your eyes on me, Cat." I whispered out of the corner of my mouth. "Focus on my ponytail or some other point."

We made it to the cell with little other incident, Powell abruptly declaring, "Well. Here we are."

My cousin rushed right past me and, bouncing on the balls of her toes, looked through the tiny window into the cell at her brother.

"Jesse!" she said, unable to contain her excitement.

"Catty?" I heard his unmistakable voice from inside the cell, surprised and a little confused.

"We're gettin' ye out, Jess! I brought Jeannie along t' sign th' form!" she answered his unspoken question rapidly, then stepped away so Powell could unlock the cell door.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, Mr. Macallister." he muttered as Jesse stepped out of the cell, wearing what I assumed could only be the attire of his "Fantasia" persona he'd created.

"When we get home, Jesse," I muttered softly, "You have a bit of explaining to do."

"Aye, Jeannie," he sighed, "I ken, I ken."

"What's this, a little family reunion in the middle of the nuthouse?" a new voice interrupted. We all turned to look as a woman around my own age in a straitjacket was being led down the hallway. What struck me as utterly odd about her was the fact her hair was almost the same shade of green as her eyes.

"Miss Curio's heading for solitary," the guard pushing her along remarked grimly, "Again."

"Nice getup there, emo boy," the green-haired girl sneered, "Trying out for a part in the new Harry Potter movie?"

"Ach, bite me." Jesse snorted, and without warning, the girl lunged forward, snapping her teeth like a bear trap. Her guard restrained her at the last second, yanking on the back of her straitjacket, but she seemed utterly unconcerned.

"Watch what you wish for, emo boy." she chuckled darkly, and I realized with a shock that her teeth were jagged and sharp, having been filed down into points.

"That's enough, Curio!" her guard snapped, giving her a rough shove forward again, propelling her past us.

"See you around," she said in a dangerous voice as she smiled at all of us.

"Looby gixie…" Jesse muttered, glaring after her.

Powell cleared his throat. "Well, if you three are finished here, I have to be getting back to my duties. I trust you know your way out?" And with that, he walked back down the hallway, throwing Catriona a less-than-subtle wink.

"This way. We're goin' back t' Jeannie's." she insisted.

"Neh. We have t' check back in with Mum." her older brother insisted. "An' there's an easier way oot fer us, Catty." He then offered me an apologetic look. "Sorry, Jeannie. 'S no' tha' I donna appreciate what ye've done here, but we gotta get back home first. We'll come back after though…?"

I sighed and gave him a reluctant nod. "Alright. I know how your mother can get. But then you have to come back; you do owe me an explanation."

"Aye, Jean. We'll be seein' ye in a bit then." he said warmly before taking off down the hall, Catriona in tow. I stood watching for a moment, wondering why they seemed to pass right under the notice of the orderlies, then figured Jesse had some sort of spell for that already cast, somehow causing everyone they passed to ignore their presence entirely.

_Wish I could do that sometimes._ I thought bitterly before rubbing some of the chill from my arms and starting back down the path Powell had used to bring us here. I hadn't gotten very far when something gave me an eerie feeling, kicking my paranoia back into gear. I picked up the pace, taking long-legged strides down a corridor, when I suddenly heard an all-too-familiar dark chuckle and froze.

_No. It can't be…_

"Uh-oh! Miss Harker's making house calls? But I paid all my overdue fines!" the voice rose and fell in mocking tones, and I cursed silently, wishing the hall wasn't completely devoid of guards. At that very moment, the alarms started to sound and lights flashed red all around me as I slowly turned on the spot, facing the living, grinning nightmare.

"Y-you're supposed to be in your cell." I tried to sound angry, but fear gave my voice a terrified whimper, and the Joker clapped his hands to his face, his eyes going wide as he made an 'oooooh!' expression.

"Whoopsies! Guess the flunkies have a worse case of the butterfingers than usual! And I'm afraid it's catching!" he laughed, just as the spring-powered boxing glove rushed out from behind his back, rising up to meet my face.


	11. Chapter 11: Flight Through Arkham

Chapter Eleven: Flight Through Arkham

[Jeanette's POV:]

I would sincerely love to tell you that I'd dodged that pop-spring boxing glove, spun around and taken Joker out with a few tricks that would have done Xena proud, then walked away with my head held high in triumph to treat myself to a dinner at a spectacular Chinese buffet after putting Hugo Strange in his place.

But I'm not my younger cousin Catriona, and I'm certainly no Batman. I am Jeanette Marie Harker, and I work in a library. Beating a skinny, near-defenseless mystic half to death with a metal baseball bat is one thing. Dodging a surprise attack from the Joker in the middle of Arkham with nothing but the clothes on my back, the wallet in my coat pocket, and a pair of high-heeled boots was quite another.

So yes. I took the glove in the face in the most literal sense of the phrase. I at least had enough sense to turn my head to the side at last second, but I was knocked back and off my feet regardless. I slammed into the floor, pain erupting in my side as another round of the Joker's hideous laugh began ringing in my ears. I couldn't afford to waste a moment; I scrambled to find my footing, just managing to twist out of the way as I heard the spring release again, the boxing glove smacking into the floor where my head had been only seconds ago. Something about that propelled me to my feet, and I began to run, as fast as I was able to go.

"Spoilsport!" I heard the Joker pout behind me, "You _really_ know how to tick a guy off!"

His footfalls began to sound on the floor behind me and I willed myself to move faster. I had to stay ahead of him, I just had to! And in high-heeled boots, that was a less-than-congenial idea.

Ahead, I saw two guards suddenly running in our direction, and my heart gave a leap of relief.

"Stop!" one of them yelled, and I kept moving, positive he was speaking to the Joker and not I.

"Ooh, why don't you sit down and take a load off, boys?" the Joker laughed behind me, and all too late I heard the spring release again. Before I could shout a warning, one of the guards flew back and hit the floor, unconscious. I couldn't stop the cry that slipped out of my mouth, but I kept moving, hearing the second guard assaulted behind me as I made a sharp right onto one of the catwalks.

"Oh, Miss Harrrrrrkerrrrrr…"

Ugh, and now he was talking in sing-song? Just when a girl thinks things can't get any worse…

Again there was that laugh, the only sound that accompanied the smack of my boots against the floor and the erratic drumming of my heartbeat in my ears. But that didn't last long; I spun toward the left when the catwalk opened back out on the other side, and then the other inmates were at their doors, cheering and jeering.

"You're not going anywhere soon there, Missy…"

"You pissed off the Joker! Ooh, you pissed him off…"

"Keep running, keep running!"

"Don't run! Turn around and wipe that stupid smile off his face!" snapped one, making a grab for my ponytail.

"HEY!" Joker snapped back at her, "Shut it, planty! This is MY turf! You're supposed to root for the home team!"

The brief moment of distraction gave me a chance to surge ahead, and I raced down a hall marked for a number of different one-on-one therapy rooms, passing several stunned orderlies who had been drawing syringes and batons they held awkwardly. One of them, much to my surprise, withdrew a tazer from her pocket and began to take aim.

"DON'T WASTE THAT ON ME!" I shrieked at her, jerking my thumb over my shoulder, "HIT _HIM_!" I didn't pause to see if she did anything, but at least she didn't use it on me, and soon the orderlies I had passed began to scream. I had a dread feeling the blonde with the tazer didn't manage to get her hit in after all.

"You know," Joker yelled at me from behind, "I hate it when people get an unfair head start and legs like a gazelle! I'm going to bust your kneecaps when I get my hands on you, bookworm!"

I didn't think I had another burst of energy to pick up my speed, but those words somehow proved me wrong. I took another turn, and then another, no longer caring to memorize where I was going; I just had to get away.

Unfortunately, I ended up making another of those stupid mistakes that I'll eventually become infamous for.

I turned into another opening, thinking it an adjacent hall, only to discover it was a staircase. The momentum from my boots had barely slowed and when I put my foot out into the air, I realized my error.

"Oh, _Hell_!"

I seized the bar on the wall, some sort of guardrail, but it barely slowed my descent. The toe of my boot still caught at the end of the step and I plunged forward, tightening my grip on the rail, my shin smacking hard against the stone. It should have ended there, but my other foot smacked into its partner and my hands were far too clammy with sweat. My hand slid as I began a smacking bounce of a descent down the stairs to the first landing, yelping in pain and praying like a fanatic that my shins didn't shatter. The landing broke my momentum at last, with me having enough sense to at least twist so I landed on my backside and saved my legs any more pain. I would have normally taken my dear sweet time getting up from a fall like that, but that was a luxury I couldn't afford. Gripping the guardrail with both hands, I wrenched myself to a stand again.

"Ugh, and now you're trying to do the job for me?" I heard Joker shriek from the top of the stairs, planting his fist and boxing glove on his hip and glowering. "I HATE when a victim is willing!"

I didn't know what to do. I just moved, launching myself from the landing and sailing in the air over the second flight of steps, hoping to hit the ground below running.

I hit the ground all right, and then a heavy pair of feet suddenly slamming into my back drove me to the floor and sent me rolling a couple yards. Stars swam in my vision and I pushed myself up on my elbows, trying to blink the world back into focus. But my vision remained blurry, and half a panicked second later, I realized why.

My glasses!

And then the laughter started again.

"Gotta say, for a chase scene, you didn't do too bad. I'd give this little run, oh…a three out of five, total score."

I coughed, hoping my panic didn't show, and began to tentatively feel around the floor. Where were my glasses? I glanced up, watching a blurry, colorful shadow step toward me. My heart raced with panic.

_Dear God, I am going to die at the hands of a madman._

"Oh, would you look at the time! Bookworm—"

He leaned close enough I could smell his breath, rancid and vile, like too many things left to rot at once.

"—I think you're a bit…overdue."

But whatever he had been planning to follow up that terrible pun with was short-lived. An even larger, ink-black shadow swept across my vision, slamming into the Joker and knocking him away from me. I heard yells and curses as punches were thrown, and swept the floor again with my hands. It took a bit of scrambling, but I finally managed to find my glasses and jam them back onto my face. I twisted where I was crouched, to see the Batman deliver a head blow that knocked the Joker senseless. He seized him by the collar of his less-than-pointless straitjacket before shifting his cold gaze onto me.

"Miss Harker." his voice was even more frigid.

"Before you go saying anything along the lines of how stupid it was of me to come here in the first place," I snapped, shakily getting to my feet and struggling to keep my balance, "I'll have you know that I was assisting family." I wasn't entirely sure why I felt the need to tell him that, but I had the infuriating thought that he would assume I'd actually ventured into this hellhole to see the deranged clown. Certainly I was crazy enough to assault said clown with books should he make threats, but I wasn't so crazy that I was _looking_ to get killed.

"Regardless, I would have hoped you knew better." he growled as orderlies and security guards started to charge down the flight of stairs into the room. At that point, something inside me snapped and my temper flared white-hot with indignant rage. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but in that second I took two strides and got in his face.

"You unbelievable, arrogant, ungrateful, addle-pated, patronizing, over-grown, egotistical, ill-conceived, self-centered, uncouth _waste_ of a man! How _dare_ you make this out to be my fault! Do you really think I've some sort of death wish?" I shouted.

"In case you failed to notice, Miss Harker—"

"No, you bullheaded son of a bitch! I did _not_ fail to notice that you saved my life! Nor did I fail to notice that your stubborn, accusing, justice-fixated excuse of a brain seems to have drawn the conclusion that I started this little mess! I did not come here looking for an insane criminal, I came to help my family! The least _you_ could do is shove your foot in your overwide mouth and actually _attempt_ to do a little detective work on what you see before you rather than only looking at the surface and drawing preposterous conclusions _that are as airtight AS A THIMBLE_!"

By the time I'd finished screaming this, I'd realized just how much of an audience my temper had garnered. Perhaps a woman with more grace and dignity would have gathered herself, gone red in the face, and mumbled a meek apology to all and made a shy exit.

Not I.

The Batman opened his mouth to say something, but I had had enough. My hand flew of its own accord, and I was rewarded with a satisfying sting in the back of my knuckles when my backhand connected with his skin, rather than his Kevlar. I heard a chorus of gasps, and I spun on the spot.

"Get out of my way!" I snarled, barely recognizing my own voice as I stormed from the room, through the halls, and out the doors of Arkham Asylum.


	12. Chapter 12: Headfirst Into Danger

Chapter Twelve: Headfirst Into Danger

[Lance's POV:]

Most socialites of my status have some private form of transportation. A private limosine, a private yacht…I've even known one who owns a bullet train. I myself have a private jet I can call upon when the occasion requires. Thankfully, such occurrences are genuinely rare, for which I am grateful.

I hate planes.

They're too confined, too dangerous, and I'm constantly on edge whenever I ride in one, whether or not it shows. Something about the fact that the jet leaves the ground is highly unsettling, and I cannot even step into my own without immediately feeling caged and heading for danger. Perchance my feelings are a result of my lycanthropy, yet I cannot help but wonder if perhaps I would have always been like this. Such had always been my mindset.

However, once Eva had been loaded into the jet, I began to suspect my theory was true. She also seemed nervous and cagey, more so than I believe I have ever felt, and she sank into one of the seats as though she would never release her hold on the upholstery. Even Robert appeared more irritable than one would expect, but the vast majority of such behavior on his part could largely be attributed to his dwindling supply of plasma pills and lack of iron. No, the only person who entered the jet in a complete state of calm was dear Gerard, steadfast as ever.

"I don't see how you can stand riding in this thing." Eva muttered, digging her nails into the cushions of her seat.

"I can't." said I.

"It's like being trapped in a soda can," she exhaled, "A soda can that just hangs in the air after you throw the stupid thing."

"You know what soda is?" Robert muttered dryly, and she shot him a sharp glare.

"Ignore him please, Miss Eva." I sighed. "Robert's low on iron, and his plasma pills need to be redosed and restocked."

"_Plasma_ pills?" she said incredulously, looking between Robert and myself, prompting him to display his fangs.

"Don't leave home without 'em." he said with a mirthless laugh.

"You're a vampire?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, "Huh. No wonder Lance is such a lycan newbie, if he hangs out with you all the time. Can't say I've ever met a vampire before; heard of 'em, though."

"I wasn't _born_ a vampire," he protested stubbornly. "I was Turned a while back; I've known Lance since way before then."

"He _is_ naturally this uncouth, though." I threw in calmly as we started to take off.

"Cute," he grumbled at me, "You grew a sense of humor at last."

"Balls."

Eva jerked her head around at once, her expression becoming that of utmost shock.

"Did you just s—"

"Yes, he did!" Robert began to snicker, hugging his sides to keep from laughing too hard. "And I didn't even have to prompt him this time!"

I merely rolled my eyes, wishing I could spit the taste of vulgarity from my lips.

"That you should prompt him at all is distasteful," Gerard remarked from his seat close to the jet's cockpit, never once glancing up from his palm pilot. I had to smile at that; at least my head of operations remained ever on my side.

"What's this Dorian guy's game, anyway?" Eva asked suddenly, redirecting my attention immediately, "You're going because Checkers here needs to be looked at. Why drag me along? What does he want with me?"

I frowned. "You don't remember Dorian's terms before he gave you the antidote for the silver poisoning?"

"Barely." she answered with a wince.

"He wants you to come back as well, on the grounds of having to whip up a particular sample of antidote designed to treat you."

"Great…" she mumbled.

From then on the rest of the flight passed largely in silence, permeated only by the occasional fussing of Gerard going through his normal routine. At one point, Eva spoke up, approaching a subject I'd nearly forgotten about that same evening we found her.

"Look, Mr. Pendragon, I know I might be prying again, but if I'm going to trust you completely, you've got to tell me your story. If I remember anything about the other night, I remember that you and the doctor both saying you're 'an unusual case' as far as lycans go." She stated, giving me a firm look that had me feeling quite as though she wouldn't step foot out of the plane before hearing my story. I sighed, hanging my head.

"Are you kidding me?" Rook blurted out from his seat next to me. "You can't just ask him that!"  
"No, Robert," I said quietly, "She has a right to know."

I looked up at her again, meeting her eyes and locking stares.

"I am among a few who make up the last remnants of an abandoned, private project that was going to be sold for a profit to the military. Hundreds of scientists, the best in their fields, were all hired to work on this endeavor and hold their tongues. They were being paid to genetically engineer cross-breed soldiers: half-human, half-animal. The cunning of human intellect and the hunting instincts of predators. They took several people. Adults, adolescents, and primarily, children. They needed to test a range of different ages to see which would adapt easiest to the forced change."

I cast my eyes down to the floor of the jet, growing lost in unwanted memories.

"Dorian was one of the most brilliant minds on the project, and I was his personal assignment. My father had wanted both my younger half-sister and I to be changed, for our own personal protection against some enemy he had made, but my sister was spared, at least initially. I was willing, on the other hand, and so I was brought to their laboratories. Dorian became my world, as did his own separate work: an anthropomorphic panther cub he called Tygrus. Since I was no longer with my own sibling and parent, they became my family.

"It would be years later before I finally saw Dorian for what he truly is: a manipulative monster with a god complex. Tygrus has always been wrapped around his finger, and in my younger years, so was I. To a degree, I still am."

Silence had fallen in our small space, and I looked up once again to find all eyes on me as I spoke, even Gerard's. There was a look of deep concern and pity on Eva's face and she flattened her ears against her head in apology.

"I'm sorry." she said quietly. "I didn't think it would be anything that bad."

"Forgiven," I replied, "For now you know."

And that impenetrable silence fell once more, until we heard the pilot announcing our landing. The jet glided down smoothly, and came down on a hidden stretch of smooth ground, where it slowed to a gentle stop.

"We're here." I said grimly, unbuckling myself and getting to my feet.

"Here," Eva parroted, "And where exactly is 'here?'"

"Dorian's private island." Rook supplied.

"The guy owns a private island?"

"The reasons behind which thou art better off remaining ignorant of." I added.

Once outside, everything appeared as it normally did; heavily forested area with numerous exotic plants and wildlife sounds. Ideally, almost the perfect place for a tropic visit upon first glance. But a dreadful sensation prickled beneath my shoulder blades, in my lower spine, on the back of my neck, and I knew something was wrong.

"Do either of you sense anything…unusual?" I asked.

"I smell cats. A lot of cats," Eva spat, "And something ugly."

"I feel like I'm being _watched_ by something ugly." Rook answered.

At once there was a sudden cry from inside the jet, followed by coughing and the subtle thumps of bodies hitting a floor that normal human ears would have been unable to detect. I spun at once, terrified.

"Gerard?" I called vainly, knowing no answer would come.

"Sleeping," said an all-to-familiar hypnotic voice nearby, "I won't have any interference from that nosy secretary of yours, Lancelot dear boy."

I glanced over my shoulder, glaring at the smiling face that came walking up to me from between the trees.

"Dorian," I growled.

"My young friends," he addressed us calmly with an unsettling smile, "I was expecting you much sooner. Still, better late than never. Come, let us play god."


	13. Chapter 13: The Volatile Walking Handbag

A/N: I do not own The Batman, Batman: the Animated Series, DC Batman or anything of the sort in any way, shape, or form.** WARNING: This fanfiction contains the following-Language, violence, mild canon-crossing elements, alternating first-person-view narratives, severe fancharacter/OCxCanon/OCxOC use. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of that, this is not the fanfic for you. NOTE: This fanfiction is a companion to my other "The Batman" fanfic, "Twisted Souls." I highly recommend you read both fanfics as they will connect and overlap in some places and events.** Finally, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first. (If you don't know my dA username, it's Yoruhoshi.) R&R please!

* * *

Chapter 13: The Volatile Walking Handbag

[Jeanette's POV:]

I took a day off after the incident at Arkham, thoroughly ruffled and terrified in equal measure. Of all the ill-organized, inept, indifferent fools, Gotham had to nominate Hugo Strange to run the asylum! The man hardly batted an eyelash when I was storming my way out of there, and offered me half-hearted apologies that ill concealed his curiosity in the entire affair. I left without more than a few short, monosyllabic, scathing replies thrown to his questions, and thanked the higher powers of the universe that Batman had remained behind to occupy the psychiatrist's time. I went home instantly, locked every door and window into my townhouse, and curled up on my couch in a blanket, baseball bat in hand. Much as I hate to admit to it, I was more frightened than I think I had been before in my life, and despite his recapture at the Batman's hands, I was hardly relieved of the notion that the Joker could escape again so soon and come after me. I am not quite sure how, but several hours later, I suddenly woke up in that same spot, surprised to find myself on the couch and curled up with the bat. I wasn't sure what to do, and in a daze, I simply called Chantelle and told her about the events of the day.

Much more to my surprise was her immediate suggestion I take the next day off. Still, I complied, and afterward, I simply went back to the couch and waited until I fell asleep again. The next day consisted of largely the same thing; I stayed in the house the entire day with all the doors and windows locked, and ate all my meals in the living room, the bat close at hand. I remained jumpy and on the edge, my hand instantly flying to the bat with even the smallest sound. Unfortunately, things didn't improve the day after when I went to work, and I still proceeded to jump at the smallest sounds and peer carefully around every corner wherever I walked.

"Jeanette," Marcia sighed at me when we took our lunch break, "You're acting like a twitchy ferret."

"You would too, if you'd been in my shoes for the past few days!" I snapped, glaring at her.

"She's right, Marcia!" Leslie jumped in. "Lay off Jeanette! You tell me that you don't get attacked at Joker at Arkham and walk away from it completely fine!"

"_I_ wouldn't have reason to be at that loony bin in the first place!" Marcia shot back at her before turning and giving me a queer look. "Which brings up the question I still want answered: why did you go there in the first place, Jeanette? Especially if you knew—"

"I was going to help get my cousin out." I blurted out, feeling my face going completely red. Damn Marcia! Why did she have to bring that part of the matter up? "He was wrongly thrown in there."

"You have criminals in your family?" Leslie asked in shock.

"Jesse isn't a criminal!" I shot back. "He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, was taken in as a suspect, and when he tried to argue his case, for whatever hare-brained reason, Chief Rojas had him thrown in Arkham instead of a waiting cell!"

Thankfully the less-than-charming police officer had no fans among the library staff, and the mention of his name marked a turning point in the conversation. Very few questions were asked of me after that, and I managed to slip away for the rest of my shift. Being alone still didn't help my nerves however, and I practically danced with relief when I clocked out for the day and headed to my car.

I was still restless on the drive back home, and flipped constantly between the different channels on the radio as I drove, wishing a decent song would come on. Of course, that was probably akin to asking that another perfect James Patterson mystery novel could just fall out of the sky and land on my doorstep: highly unlikely. I finally stopped on a channel to hear a familiar tune by Duran Duran. Unbidden, my thoughts slipped to Mr. Pendragon, and I blushed, feeling like a foolish little schoolgirl. The man was an enigma, confusing and intriguing all at once, and truthfully I was eager to see him again. I glanced over at the cell phone lying dark and silent on my passenger seat, feeling deflated and awkward.

I had half-hoped Lance would call or something after what had happened, but of course he didn't. I wasn't sure why I found it so disappointing, but I wished to hear from him. After all, we had hit it off well over coffee, hadn't we?

Once I parked outside the townhouse, I picked up the phone, dialed the number I was given, and pressed it to my ear. But five rings later, only the voicemail answered, and I shut it off before I was forced to leave a message.

"Stupid, Jeanette Harker." I muttered, both furious with myself for calling and yet not leaving a message. Why had I called? Why had I called and not left him a message? "This possible courtship won't go anywhere if you're a coward."

But that's what I was, wasn't it? A coward. The Joker had come after me in Arkham Asylum and what had I done? I had turned tail and run for my life, rather than fight for it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jeanette," I snapped to myself aloud as I unlocked the front door, "That's a different matter altogether. And you're not trained in unarmed combat; you would have wound up dead if you'd tried to stay and fight. Don't compare that to being courted by a man."

Now, as riveting as it is to converse and argue with oneself, it was a poor mistake on my part to get wrapped up in the act. I stepped inside my townhouse, still muttering to myself, and it wasn't until I was halfway to the kitchen that I stopped, realizing in horror that I wasn't alone in my house.

"Well it's about time you noticed us." Said a voice. I turned to find three men dressed in black wetsuits watching me, their posture relaxed and unconcerned. I spun around, looking desperately for my baseball bat, and they began to chuckle.

"Lookin' for this, _chere_?" A deeper voice with a thick Cajun accent rumbled behind me. Slowly, I turned on my heel, and nearly collapsed to my knees in fear. I was facing a seven-foot reptilian monster of a man, who was watching me with yellow animal eyes, holding my bat aloft like it weighed no more than a feather. I worked my mouth, trying to say something, but it was too dry, and I had no words besides that. I had to turn and run for dear life. I had to call the police somehow! Forget the breaking and entering of three Navy SEAL rejects, I didn't want to be eaten. I let out a whimper, taking a few steps back, and he bounced the bat in a webbed hand.

"Gotta say, I admire ya spunk, but I can't have ya smackin' my boys with this here thang. Not when we're here t' talk."

"Y-you can have all my money," I said quickly, taking another step back, "Th-there's not much in the house, but if you let me run d-down to the bank—"

"This ain't 'bout money, _chere_." He cut me off, setting the bat down gently on my dining room table. "I need ya help."

" 'Help?'" I sputtered, the word coming out halfway as a mirthless chuckle. "You want my _help_? Killer Croc, one of the biggest crime bosses in Gotham. You want the help of a _librarian_."

"Lemme tell ya before you say anotha word," He said slowly, "You make any comment 'bout me an' readin', an' this is gon' get ugly _real_ fast."

I gulped and clamped my mouth shut.

"Good girl," he said with a nod of approval, "Now…we gonna do this the hard way, or are you gonna come with us nice an' easy?"

I refrained from asking sarcastically whether or not I had a say in the matter.


	14. Chapter 14: Out Of The Fire, Into A Boat

A/N: I do not own The Batman, Batman: the Animated Series, DC Batman or anything of the sort in any way, shape, or form.** WARNING: This fanfiction contains the following-Language, violence, mild canon-crossing elements, alternating first-person-view narratives, severe fancharacter/OCxCanon/OCxOC use. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of that, this is not the fanfic for you. NOTE: This fanfiction is a companion to my other "The Batman" fanfic, "Twisted Souls." I highly recommend you read both fanfics as they will connect and overlap in some places and events.** Finally, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first. (If you don't know my dA username, it's Yoruhoshi.) R&R please!

* * *

Chapter 14: Out Of the Fire and Into A Boat

[Jeanette's POV:]

If there was one good thing about Killer Croc, it was at least that he could be a gentleman when he cared to; I was willing to grant him that much. While he sent his three thugs out to "fetch" something, he insisted that I would be better off accompanying him for more reasons than one. I was a touch nervous and not completely willing to believe that statement, but I wasn't exactly in a position to argue with a seven-foot, two-hundred-fifty pound saurian. So I went along with his direction, and found myself, astonishingly enough, right back at the library.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, confused.

"Waitin' for y'all to close for the night." He replied, shifting his weight so we might better be concealed in our hiding spot. Really, it was ridiculous! Me, skulking around outside the library, waiting to break in like some criminal.

"Ya got a key?" He asked abruptly, and in surprise, I looked up at him and nodded, holding up my keyring. "Good. I'd rather nobody know about our visit; gotta keep it as clean as possible."

"What exactly are you wanting from the library?" I demanded.

"Information." He replied.

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Surely if he wanted some sort of information he could steal it by hacking into computers. Of course, he shook his head at that suggestion.

"Hackin' ain't my strong point. Same goes for mah boys. 'Sides, some thangs you only get from readin'. And I don't exactly get the luxury of walkin' into no library wheneveh I want to do that." He explained, and I conceded the point quickly. We didn't have long to wait before the last of my coworkers filed out of the door and Chantelle locked up. A few minutes later, and everyone had cleared from the parking lot, nominating the perfect moment for us to leave our cover and head to the doors. I fumbled with the keys for only a few minutes, and then we slipped inside, where Croc took a second to pause, lift his head high, and sniff like a dog.

"Smells like paypuh. _Old_ paypuh."

"Well, I'm not sure what else you were expecting. After all, this is a library."

"First time I been in one since this happened." He stated, twitching the end of his long tail.

"Fair enough, sir. Now, I can't help you unless you tell me what it is you're looking for." I responded with a pointed sniff, adjusting my glasses. I suppose I couldn't help myself; the moment I set foot in my library, I sort of fell into my role here. Croc fixed a yellow eye on me, and I waited for a few seconds while he seemed to struggle with whether or not to answer.

"Don't you laugh."

"I can hardly make light of my job."

"I need information on werewolves."

I raised my eyebrows. Was he being serious? Did he actually expect me to fall for that?

"Werewolves." I tested the word out, and he nodded sharply.

"It's important."

"Why, is there a lycanthrope running about Gotham that we mundane people are unaware of?" I challenged, crossing my arms. He fixed me with that golden stare and abruptly, I realized he wasn't spouting utter nonsense; he was being completely sincere with me. I uncrossed my arms and dropped my irritation quickly, feeling incredibly foolish, something I've never quite grown used to.

"Oh…" I murmured, "I-I'm sorry."

"Like I said, it's important."

"R-right." I conceded to him again and flicked a light switch, heading toward the larger atrium and glancing only briefly up at the Dewey Decimal signs on the sides of the bookcases before I found the aisle I wanted. "Supernatural topics. I assume you prefer to look up the vast majority of lycanthropic lore?"

Of course he would nod! Now really, in all honesty, I knew that my library was bound to carry a copy of at least one sort of book that looked into lycanthropy seriously, but I was nonetheless a bit stunned when I perused the shelves and found one regardless. I pulled the volume off the shelf and flipped it open to glance at some pages, just to confirm that it was indeed what we were looking for. Thankfully it appeared to be legitimate, if a tad older, and out of curiosity, I opened to the back cover, to check the records in it.

_Odd_, I thought when I saw the list of stamped dates; _The last time this book was checked out was nearly thirteen years ago. And to a G. Montaine. How strange._

"Well?" Croc asked, sounding a tad impatient.

"I do believe I've found it," I answered, holding the book out for him, but he made no move to take it.

"Got anythin' in it 'bout how werewolves are affected by silvuh?"

"I'll…check." I said testily, frowning up at those yellow eyes. I was far from pleased that he made no effort to look on his own, but perhaps saying so wasn't a smart idea. I returned my attention to the book and turned to its index, scanning for some mention of silver, half-hoping I would not find a listed number, but to my annoyance, luck was with us. There it was, on page eighty-six. The pages crinkled and rustled as they flipped and turned beneath my fingers, and finally I stopped on the right spot, holding the book a little higher for Croc to examine. He leaned his massive head closer, yellow eyes flickering slightly as he read.

"Well? Find what you were looking for?" I prompted, and his expression steadily darkened.

"Mebbe a bit more than what I wanted t'know." He growled. "That lab coat's a liar, an' he's gon' pay for it. You gotta map of Gotham bay layin' around?"

"Better yet: we have one hanging up in the break room," I said dryly, "I'll be right back."

I pushed the book into his webbed hands and dashed to the break room, flicking on the lights and searching the walls for the right map. It only took a moment to find, but as I reached to unpin it from the wall, I paused. What in the world was I doing? Why was I even helping this…well, man, for lack of a better word? He was a wanted criminal, a rogue! For pity's sake, he had tried to flood the city before! What any _sensible_ woman would do, would be to take this opportunity to escape somehow and alert the police as to what was happening. And I was a sensible woman, wasn't I?

_Apparently not_, I said to myself with a grimace as I pulled the thumbtacks from the corners of the map and took it off the wall. For a moment, I considered folding it and using it to bargain, then shook my head and rushed back to where Croc was waiting, still scanning the pages of the lycanthropy book and frowning. His amber eyes flicked up as I approached, and he nodded at the map in silent approval.

"That it?" He asked, and when I nodded back, he surprised me by adding, "Thank ya."

"You're going to return the map, I trust?" I did my best to keep my voice as neutral as possible, hoping he wouldn't know I was testing him. His only response was to give me a noncommittal shrug.

"If I remember it," he answered, "'Course…ya _could_ come along, _chere_. I could use ya help."

"I'm not going to help you commit any sort of—"

"Slow down, bookworm. This ain't about pullin' no heists or robbin' no banks or that kinda thang."

I wanted to correct his grammar, point out the use and abuse of double negatives, but instead what I said was, "Then pray tell, what is this insanity about?"

"Helpin' a…friend. A real close friend. I think she's been kidnapped, and I ain't gonna just stand by and let somethin' happen t' her." He replied, and I felt something inside me soften. This woman, whoever she was, sounded like she was more to Killer Croc than just a 'friend,' and the level of utter sincerity behind the words he spoke tugged at the heartstrings of my inner romantic. I chewed my lip for a moment, caught in indecision between the logical choice and the compassionate one, and finally I gave in.

"Very well," the words came out of my mouth in a sigh, "I'll do what I can to help, but I make no guarantees. What do we have to do?"

He smiled at me, perhaps in approval, baring a mouth full of glossy white fangs.

"We're gonna do whatcha see all the time in the movies."

"That tells me next to absolutely nothing."

"Just follow me and I'll show ya."

I grimaced again; nothing good could possibly come of "just following" Killer Croc. Still, I said I would help, and I honor my commitments. I rolled up the map, unsure what else to do, and took the book on lycanthropes back when he handed it to me. If anyone noticed its absence later, I would just say that I took it out, which was true enough. After all, I wanted a look at what Croc had seen on page eighty-six, concerning the silver. The more I knew before we got too deep into this mess—whatever it was—the better off I was sure I would be. I ushered him out the doors first, then locked up behind us, feeling my heart pound in a mix of panic and exhilaration. It went against every single personal standard I held myself to, doing something like this, and yet…it was somehow exciting at the same time.

Maybe I really was starting to go crazy.

I turned and gave him a solid thump on the arm with the book to get his attention.

"So where to, O Scaly One?"

He shot me a dry look and pointed at the map in my hand.

"The docks at the bay?"

"Yyyeeppp."

"This only begins to sound shadier and shadier with every passing moment."

"Doncha worry ya head, _chere_. You'll see what we doin' soon enough."

And with great reluctance, I allowed a dangerous criminal lead me through what seemed to be a network maze of Gotham's back alleys. Small wonder so many of these 'supervillains' managed to escape Gotham P.D. with ease, given the way all these streets connected to one another somehow. Before long, I started to lag behind, unable to keep up with Croc's unnatural speed. He doubled back for a me a few times, waited for me to catch up with waning patience, and finally, he hauled me off my feet and into the air. I yelled a number of protests before he sat me on his massive shoulders, and then I just sat, dumbstruck and clinging for dear life as he ran and jumped at top speed. The only complete thought I was able to form after that was the question of whether or not this was anything similar to riding an ill-trained horse, and I barely managed to pick out any familiar landmarks before they were whipped out of my sight. But finally, _finally _we made it to the dockyard, where Killer Croc slowed to a halt and deposited me on the ground as gently as he could.

"Ya okay?"

"W-well, considering I can barely k-keep my balance and I p-probably resemble a staggering d-drunk, I suppose I could be worse." I answered. I don't think I was entirely aware of what I was saying, but it sounded right.

"Good!" He grunted in approval. "C'mon, we almost to the boat."

"Boat?" I repeated. Had I heard him correctly?

"Yep. We gonna sail out and save the damsel in distress from the bad guy. Like in the movies."

"But...but...you're talking about a figurative boat, right? This is just a metaphor, there's no _real_ boat involved, is there Croc? ...Croc?"

But he was already moving again and getting ahead of me, so I had to trot on unsteady feet to keep up. Every step we both took set the dockboards creaking and groaning, drowning out the sound of the water further below, and I wondered if Croc came here often for the atmosphere. Crocidilian mutant or not, something about him struck me as a seafaring sort of man. Or maybe that Cajun accent was just adding to my dizziness. We rounded a corner and walked along a good stretch of the boardwalk until we actually came to the spot where boats of varying size and build were tied off, waiting for their owners to return.

"Don' worry," Croc said at once, looking back at me over a shoulder, "We ain't touchin' non o' these."

"Oh." I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."

"_That's_ our ride." He declared, pointing, and I looked to feel my heart and stomach sink down to my feet. It was a barge or a ferry or something of the like, approaching the docks from out of the dusk's gloom, manned by the same three thugs Croc had had with him at my house.

"Lord have mercy, the boat is real." I croaked.

"Didja think I was kiddin'?" He demanded.

"I had _hoped _you were kidding."

The boat (which I had decided to think of as a ferry,) pulled up close enough that one of the thugs threw a couple of mooring lines over the side that Croc caught and quickly tied off. Another of them lowered a plank of some kind so we could come aboard, though I guessed that was mostly for my benefit; Croc easily could have made it onto the ferry in a single leap.

"Ready to go, Boss Croc!" The dark-haired man called.

"Mighty nice work, boys!" He called back, and before I could think of a coherent protest, he prodded me in the back and marched me onboard. "I wantcha t' be respectful now, fellas. We've got us a lady onboard."

I attempted a weak smile, and all three of the men looked from me to each other, to Croc.

"But boss," one protested, "We thought you just needed her to get the map and a book."

"Sometimes," he growled, "We need brains t' balance out the team, and this little lady's got more than the three of ya put together."

I wish I could have glowed with pride and made a remark to back up the statement, but I was still stuck on the fact that I was, indeed, on a boat. And once Croc pulled the lines back in and lifted the plank, I was undeniably _trapped_ on said boat. I suppressed a groan and sank to the deck.

_What am I getting myself into?_

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**A/N: I believe I forgot to mention before that Jeanette hates boats. Unlike her younger cousin Catriona, Jeanette is not hydrophobic; she just hates the rocking sensation of boats.**


	15. Chapter 15: Boat Rides Suck

**A/N: Don't you love it when your muse gets on a roll? Because I'm having one for this particular fanfic. WARNING: This fanfiction contains the following-Language, violence, mild canon-crossing elements, alternating first-person-view narratives, severe fancharacter/OCxCanon/OCxOC use. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of that, this is not the fanfic for you. NOTE: This fanfiction is a companion to my other "The Batman" fanfic, "Twisted Souls." I highly recommend you read both fanfics as they will connect and overlap in some places and events. Finally, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first. (If you don't know my dA username, it's Yoruhoshi.) R&R please!**

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Chapter 15: Boat Rides Suck

[Jeanette's POV:]

Words alone are not enough to express my sheer dislike of boats. I did my best to find a spot close to the prow where I could just sit down without looking out over the water, and tried to think of how to get out of this predicament. So far, I couldn't exactly escape by jumping overboard and trying to swim back to Gotham. I had no idea where this private island we were supposedly sailing to was, and Croc's three stooges hadn't exactly been much help.

Much to my surprise though, they had actually introduced themselves without prompting. Vic was, of course, the disgustingly foul-mouthed man with the odd mutton-chops beard and had some sort of chronic problem when it came to ordering around his two companions. Sam was the quiet one in the back who always looked to everyone else for direction, and followed Croc's orders diligently and without question. And Freddie was the awkward, gangly, bespectacled man around my own age, who followed the other three like a lost puppy looking for attention. All in all, they made a peculiar motley crew, and I pondered absently on how in the world they had wound up together.

We had been out on the water for over an hour when Sam came near where I sat, busying himself with checking and double-checking everything in sight. I watched his work for several quiet minutes before I finally decided to take a stab at conversation.

"Mr. Sam, do you even have the faintest idea how much longer it will be before we reach our destination?"

He looked at me in surprise as he checked a storage hatch, and then frowned in thought for a few moments. Finally, he answered with a slow shake of his head.

"Hour? Maybe two?" He said in a soft, deep voice, rolling his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I dunno."

"Hmm. May I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure, I guess."

"How in the world did you and your friends come to work for Killer Croc? Why are you still working for him?" I queried.

"Tell ya the truth, the boss found us while we were tryin' to pull a heist," Same replied, moving on to check the life rings, "Lemme tell ya, he hits like a semi-truck. He wanted to take us on as hired help. Vic, he wasn't too hot on that. But Freddie and me, we know the food chain when we see it, so we went along. Didn't question it much."

"Freddie and _I_." I attempted to correct his grammar, but it was a vain effort and went ignored.

"Dunno why we've stuck by Boss Croc since then. Guess after working for him, we just never felt like goin' back to bein' freelance. Least that's how I see it. And I know this sounds crazy, but I kinda look up to the boss. Kinda like, uh…an inspiration. See, I never had much education. Dropped out of high school my sophomore year, to try to help take care of my ma. Got my GED, but never had enough money to get any higher learning. And when times got hard, nobody wanted to hire a brainless high school drop-out."

"Sam," I said gently, "You're not brainless—"

"Mighty kind of you, miss. But I'm really not that smart. I ain't no genius or anything. But the boss, he is. And I kinda want to be like him. I even wanna be an inspiration to someone else one day, once I'm good enough to get there. Plus we're all kind of a family now. The boss could have told us to get lost the first time after his plan failed, but he didn't. He let us stick with him." Sam explained. "That make any sense?"

I blinked in amazement, looking from him to the cabin where Croc stood, manning the wheel, and watched as he clapped Freddie on the shoulders, praising him for a job well done.

"Yes," I said softly, "Yes, it does."

"Can I ask you a question, miss?"

"You _may_ ask me a question." I answered stiffly, twisting my mouth in irritation again at his grammar.

"Why'd you help the boss?" He asked. "You could've called the police, or tried to signal the Batman or somethin'. But you just decided to help him. But you're not scared of him, like any normal people are. Sure, we scared ya when we were at your house, and that makes sense, but you don't seem scared of him any more, far as I can tell. And besides, you look like an honest person. And if you're an honest person, you're not here because you want money or anything. So why are you still helping Boss Croc?"

It was a very valid question, and it hit home. I had continued to ask myself the exact same thing since we had been outside the library, waiting for it to close. I chewed my lip a moment, considering how best to answer the question for both of us. Nothing jumped to me however, and finally I just shrugged.

"I must say I am not entirely sure," I replied quietly, "Somehow it just feels like the right thing to do. And not just that, it feels like something I _must_ do. I suppose you could say it's my women's intuition."

At that he nodded, and I smiled slightly with relief, glad he had accepted my answer. The company of criminals was not something I desired on any level, but Sam didn't seem so bad. I just wished he wouldn't speak so ill of himself. He rose from where he crouched and walked off to check something else, leaving me to myself, although not for long. Vic and Croc were still at the wheel, deep in discussion, but Freddie had long since been dismissed to wander about the deck. He reappeared without warning, and he was…_dancing_?

I blinked, removed my glasses, frantically rubbed their lenses upon my sleeve in an attempt to clean them, and replaced them upon the bridge of my nose.

No…No, he was _definitely_ dancing out here onto the main deck.

And to make matters worse, he began singing as well.

"—tell me you're heeere to staaaaayyyy~ Never, ever, run a-a-awaaaayyyy~ OOOHH! Thirteen chapters in a sleepless niiiiight~ Written so ba—ad but it feels so ri-hiiight!"

_Shakespeare, Austen, and Fitzgerald! _I thought, wincing and clapping my hands over my ears. It was bad enough that the man couldn't sing, but what in the name of all things sentient were those god-forsaken lyrics?! I squinted through my half-closed eyes and spotted the source of the problem: an MP3 player clipped to his belt. Scowling, I struggled to my feet, doing my best to stand upright and still keep my ears covered, and staggered across the deck as it rose and fell with the waves, to nudge Freddie with the toe of my boot. He jumped at the contact, shocked to find me glaring at him, and with a deliberately innocent blink of his eyes, he shut off the MP3 player and removed his headphones.

"Hey, Miss Harker! What's up?" He asked.

"You are screeching loud enough to wake the dead and kill them all a second time." I said in a ragged voice. "What the _hell_ are you listening to?"

"Chill out, dude! It's 'Thirteen Chapters In A Sleepless Night.' Number one hit single from King Sombrero and the Crystal Ho's."

"I am going to assume that is a reference to gardening tools," I responded dryly, "And did you say thirteen chapters?"

"Yeah!" He gave an enthusiastic nod.

"While I can appreciate more than most the gusto of a reader bewitched by a story and I fully support reading books to better fall asleep at night, thirteen chapters of what sounds like a poorly written pornography novel in one sitting is unwise, unhealthy, and utterly implies you're going to be doing something other than falling asleep afterward."

He stared in surprise, and I watched as his face slowly started turning a deep shade of crimson. He ducked his head, stuffed his headphones and MP3 player into his pocket, and did his best to inch away slowly. _Ahh, the workings of the simple-minded man. How nice it must be, not to be weighed down by trivial worries and too many thoughts, let alone the impression given to others when you sing songs about reading poorly written books of an erotic nature._ I shook my head slowly, partially at Freddie, partially out of confusion with myself. My thoughts felt a bit too like those of Oscar Wilde in that moment, at least to me, and that was not something I normally allowed.

I decided to blame the boat. Half of this wouldn't be even occurring were I not on this bedamned boat.

"Freddie, Sam, Jeanette! Y'all come here a second!"

I wasn't exactly ready to comply, but my churning gut decided differently, and I wobbled and staggered after the two, keen to get this over with. Croc was waiting, the stolen map laid out on a small table, while Vic steered.

"Yes, Boss Croc?" Sam responded dutifully, an elementary school student eager to impress his new instructor. Croc's yellow eyes moved from him to Freddie, over his shoulder to Vic, then to me before he glanced down at the map. I knew nothing about reading them; to my eyes, poor as my sight was before you factored in my glasses, it only looked like so many lines and colors intermingling. He pointed with a claw to a specific spot amid all the blue, gently tapping the paper.

"We're about here. And we headin'," he slowly traced an invisible line to a small spot of green, "Right there. Be there in an hour, mebbe two."

"Then what, boss?" Freddie asked, voice betraying how nervous he felt. "I know we've gotta find Miss Eva, but where do we start?"

"She ain't gonna be out in the open, boys. Call it my…animal instinct. We gonna have to look for 'em. We huntin' for clues when we dock." He looked for their nods of consent, then looked to me. "Jeanette, ah know you don't wanna be here, but you mind helpin' us some more?"

And to my utter astonishment, he held out the lycanthropy book to me, clutched tenderly between his massive digits as though made of precious china. Wordlessly, I accepted, taking the book and giving him a skeptical expression.

"What exactly are you wanting me to do?" I asked.

"Like ah said at the offset, we need some brains here, help us think before just jumpin' into somethin'."

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Vic spoke up finally, glancing over his shoulder and looking positively furious, "Hold on just one second, Boss Croc! You're sayin' you want _her_ help? No offense, but a bookworm's not my first choice for back-up!"

"_Excuse_ me?!" I gasped in outrage, planting my fists on my hips.

"You heard me, glasses." He said loftily, turning his chin up at me. "You might as well stay here when we dock. This is a man's work. You can stay here and scrapbook you favorite quotes from all the chapters of 'Fifty Sha—'"

My temper exploded before he could finish, and I charged forward, clutching the book in both hands, and swung as hard as I could. It connected with a sickening CRACK! and Vic let out a yelp before crumpling, unconscious, to the floor.

"That," I snarled, "Was for having the _audacity_ to even _mention _that literary _TRASH _around me!"

Chest heaving as I sucked in hoarse breaths, I turned to face the other three, daring any of them to follow the same vein of remarks. Sam and Freddie were staring open-mouthed, and Croc began to snicker slightly.

"You…just…hit…" Freddie spoke in a weak whimper.

"Start singing 'Thirteen Chapters' again and you're next!" I huffed. His eyes shot wide open and he jerked back, making Croc laugh even harder.

"I had a feelin' you'd make a good partnuh." He declared as he took the wheel. I wasn't entirely certain why the words of a criminal meant anything to me, but I could feel myself swelling with pride nonetheless.

"Then tell me what I need to know about Miss Eva and this scientist, if you please." I said. "So I can better put my brain to use."

Behind me, I heard Freddie whimpering and whining to Sam, "Oh, man! It's bad enough with her here! I don't know if I can survive a three hour ride back to the mainland with both her _AND _Eva on board!"

"Aww, it's not that bad, Fred. Come on, what can happen in three hours?"

"Yeah? I bet Gilligan said the same thing." He moaned.

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**A/N: Jeanette's making a habit of hitting people. Also, Croc's henchies. I double-checked the identity of these guys with a friend who is a huge Killer Croc fan. Only two of the three ever talk and are named, and those are Vic and Freddie. I've seen some debate as to what the name of the third guy is, and I've seen quite a few people refer to him as "Butch." I don't think of him as a "Butch." For some reason, I've always called him Sam. I don't know why, but it's my headcanon. So from here on out he's Sam, okay? And I wanted to develop his and Freddie's individual personalities just a little bit more, to give them more depth. (Poor Freddie's the buttmonkey for this chapter. And as for the song and "band" he's referring to, that's an inside joke between two friends and myself.)**


	16. Chapter 16: The Escape Plan Fails

**A/N: Yet again, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first. (If you don't know my dA username, it's Yoruhoshi.) R&R please!**

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Chapter 16: The Escape Plan Fails

[Lance's POV:]

The enclosure was beautiful, an enchanting scene from the greatest imaginations of rainforest-lovers. Lush plants sprang from the soft earthen floor, exotic trees grew to towering heights, and lovely flowers the like of which most Gothamites had never, (and probably would never,) lay eyes on made splashes of color among the many, varying shades of green. There were faint snatches of birdsong from time to time and a cool, clean smell in the air, the sort that only comes from earth refreshed by rainfall. And despite the damp scent in the air, the temperature was perfectly comfortable.

All in all, a picturesque scene.

I loathed it with a passion.

I paced back and forth behind the Plexiglas, trying to think of any conceivable manner possible to use for means of an escape. True, Dorian had always possessed a questionable level of sanity, but _this_ just spoke of utter depravity. A quick glance to the other Plexiglas wall that separated our enclosure from Tygrus's revealed nothing but more flora. A sense of guilt and sympathy twisted a knot in my chest. I knew he was in there, hiding somewhere perhaps, in his anger and regret, because Dorian had put him in there.

"Just to prevent you from getting any ideas about interfering with this experiment, dear Tygrus." He had said.

Infuriated, I looked away to the much, much smaller pen across the atrium from the one in which I was encased. At first there was nothing, but after a moment, a figure slammed into the Plexiglas wall paneling with the force of a bullet train, shouting in wordless, incoherent rage.

"Give it up, Robert." I sighed, feeling my shoulders beginning to sink in the first vestiges of defeat as I pressed my hands against the walls of the 'cage.' "Without your full strength, you will only cause yourself injury."

He sank to the floor, clutching his sore arm and baring his long canine teeth as he hissed in pain.

"Whaddya want me t'do, Lance? Just give up?"

"Did any suggestion of the sort come from my mouth? What I _want_ you to do is stop for a moment and try to use the brain I know is between your ears somewhere."

"You think any sort of hard thinking is going to help us out of our situation, Lance?" Came a snort from nearby. I glanced over my shoulder, somehow unsurprised to find Eva glaring at me. Truth to tell, the blame in the matter _did_ lie with me. After all, if not for my giving in to Dorian's whims and begging for her to accompany us, she would not be in this predicament. I let out a ragged sigh.

"Better to keep a clear head and try to see something that may work to such an advantage than to waste energy needlessly." I answered. I was hoping she would answer, but she only scowled at me before looking away, and I was left to study the areas beyond our cell on my own. For a long time, silence pervaded the air everywhere and the minutes passed slowly with little change to our exotic surroundings. Finally, after I had gauged that maybe a few hours had slipped into obscurity, something occurred that jarred me out of a stupor I hadn't realized I'd fallen into. An exterior door on the far end of the building to admit Dorian, who was followed by Garth the ape-man. And slung over Garth's shoulders was all-too-familiar form with a head covered with long, curly blonde hair.

"Gerard!" I gasped, and Rook and Eva both jerked, looking up in alarm. There was no mistaking it once I heard the groggy moan from the figure; I would recognize the sound of my butler's voice in a crowded stadium across the city. Dorian approached Rook's enclosure, stopping a few yards short of coming into contact with the Plexiglas, and he folded his arms calmly, dark eyes studying my dear friend with an expression I knew too well.

"Put him in there with the vampire, Garth." He remarked coolly, and the ape-man hastened to obey. I frowned, wondering what game the older man was playing at, but a glance at Rook revealed it. Separated from his plasma pills, he was suffering the effects of the Thirst more keenly than before, and looking worse the wear for it.

"Dorian!" I roared, slamming my fists repeatedly against the Plexiglas to get his attention. "Let him go! Gerard has nothing to do with this!"

"Of course he doesn't, my boy." He replied calmly. "But it would be inconsiderate not to offer Robert a snack while I develop a higher dosage of the plasma pills."

I snarled, wishing I could break through the walls of this over-glorified pen and toss the old scientist to the ground. But I wasn't about to toss away my own advice from earlier about saving energy, and so I was left to watch and seethe as Garth unceremoniously threw Gerard into Rook's enclosure like an oversized sack of potatoes.

"Done, sir." Garth murmured, quickly backing away and sealing the opening once more, as though worried he would be the vampire's first choice of victim. He needn't have worried, however; vampires probably weren't too keen on ape-man for fare.

"Excellent." Dorian said brightly, taking a few steps closer to observe. Rook looked up at me, very human concern shining in his eyes, and then stepped closer to Gerard, who stirred, shaking his head and struggling to sit up. His movements were sluggish, and from what I was able to discern, he sounded drugged. For all we knew, he probably was. I let out another low growl, feeling anger flare bright and scorching within me, and it took me a second to realize Eva was standing next to me, pressing against the Plexiglas with an unreadable expression. Across from us, Gerard finally managed to sit up, touching a hand to his temple and wincing in pain, unaware of Rook twitching and fidgeting close by.

"Lance," Eva said warily, "I may not be a big fan of your Barbie doll butler, but can't we do _something_ before Fangs there kills him?"

I bit my lower lip in frustration, concern battling my anger. Furious though I was, I did not want to witness the death of my loyal servant, and especially not at the hands of my closest friend, who had abstained from feeding on humans since he had been Turned. But of course, I couldn't do anything at the moment, and I had my doubts at attempting to transform and break free.

But a second later, my worries were abolished.

Rook had taken another step closer to Gerard, only to recoil a breath later, hissing and baring his long canines as he backed away.

"Augh, sick! You _reek_, goldilocks!" He yelled, making us all blink in surprise. What in the world was he talking about? Gerard always adhered to the standard of "cleanliness is next to godliness," and I had never known Rook to complain about personal hygiene of others, considering how often he bothered attending to his own.

"Beg your pardon, my boy?" Dorian sounded more than bewildered, a rare occurrance.

"_Garlic_!" Rook hissed, making gagging sounds. "He ate _garlic_! _Ugh_!"

"For your information," Gerard muttered, speaking up for the first time, "I had that shrimp and tetrazinni plate _yesterday _for lunch."

"And you still smell like it! It's like, oozing out your pores!"

"Considering I've been prevented from bathing since then, that's unsurprising. Revolting, but unsurprising."

I let out a sigh of relief. I had never thought the garlic bit of vampire lore held true, but considering how sharp Rook's senses were, the smell was probably far more than he wanted to handle. For once, Gerard Montaine's expensive taste in cuisine had proved truly life-saving.

"How curious." Dorian murmured, stroking his chin and frowning in thought. "No matter. At the very least, that should help keep you docile, Robert. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to return to my work on your pills. And when I come back..."

He glanced toward Eva and I, and a shudder of fright raced up and down my spine.

"Then it'll be your turn."

I sucked in a breath, tensing as the door thudded shut behind he and Garth, booming like cannonfire throughout the entire building. Next to me, Eva shook her head and scowled.

"Guy's a creep." She growled.

"Gee, _really_?" Rook said sarcastically from across the atrium. "We didn't notice. _No _idea _whatsoever_. _Thank _you for pointing that out, Captain Obvious."

"Watch it, Lieutenant Sarcasm," she shot back, "Or I might break those baby fangs."

"You wanna go, wolf-girl?"

"With you? Hah, you'd barely be warm-up!"

"Are you arguing?" Gerard asked calmly, and it took me a moment to recall he probably couldn't hear too well through both layers of Plexiglas. I exhaled in irritation.

"Both of you, stop it. Useless bickering is only wasting more energy." I said wearily. "What we should do, is try to think of a means by which to escape, once the...good doctor returns."

"You think we can actually fight back?" Eva asked skeptically.

"No, I think that's part of what Lance is getting at," Rook said slowly, the sound of comprehension dawning in his tones, "We think we can't fight back, because that's what 'Doctor God' _wants_ us to think. Am I right?"

Hardly the point I had been _trying_ to drive at, but I could make do with it.

"Suprising to think there's actually a functioning brain somewhere in that thick head of yours." Gerard muttered, and it was with a great deal of restraint that we both avoided responding to his quip.

"Robert raises a very true point, Miss Eva." I explained. "Emile Dorian may not look like much, but he _is_ particularly adept at manipulating others."

"But he's hardly done anything to even-I dunno, _imply_ we can't leave." She objected.

"Father doesn't need to," a voice so quiet my lycanthian ears had a moment of trouble catching it, came from behind us, and we turned to the adjacent enclosure to see Tygrus watching us, "He knows a lot about how people work. He knows how people tend to panic in a tight situation. He doesn't need to say much at all."

Her scowl tightened, and I caught a glimpse of the muscles in her powerful arms tensing. A sharp new scent began to fill the air, a strong musk of anger, wolf, and near-adrenaline, and it surprised me for a moment; was she going to transform? Tentatively, I reached for her shoulder, hoping to calm her down.

"Tygrus is right, the man is an expert in the art of warping one's perception." I said gently.

"Point behind that is," Rook interjected, "He wouldn't expect us to ever _think_ of fighting back!"

"All the more reason _why_ we ought to devise some sort of strategy to do so!" I finished. "Now get to work on it, Rook."

"You guys are crazy," Eva responded, a smile creeping onto her features, "But I'm alright with this kind of crazy. So what are we going to do?"

* * *

Rook's plan was simple enough: await Dorian's return to the atrium, whereupon he and I would attempt to distract the older man with conversation, while Eva and Gerard would search for air vents or other possible escape routes. In the event Dorian noted their absence, we were to try to distract him from that as well, making up any plausible excuse as to why they were nowhere to be seen. Tygrus, bless him, readily volunteered to back up any claims we made; after all, the doctor was more likely to believe whatever we said if his 'son' confirmed it. Then, whenever they got free, Eva would knock out Dorian and Garth, while Gerard freed us and found out where our pilot had disappeared to. From there, we would retrieve Rook's plasma pills and make a break for my jet, to get back home. It wasn't an airtight plan, nor was it foolproof, but it was the best we could come up with under pressure.

Finally, the hour drew near. There were no timepieces or method of physically tracking when Dorian would return, but somehow I knew. I just felt it deep in my being. I took to pacing the length of the Plexiglas wall, and Eva vanished into the vegetation behind me, presumably getting a head start on searching for the vents.

"Sir?"

I raised my head from my anxious pondering and found Gerard staring at me from the other enclosure, typical frown back in place on his mouth and his brow furrowed in concern. I knew he probably wouldn't be able to hear me, so I cocked my head, hoping to give him _some_ indication I was listening.

"I don't have a good feeling about this," he said calmly, "There are too many things that could go wrong."

I bit my lower lip, attempting to contain my own treacherous anxiety. I knew this, but we didn't have time to focus on all the problem variables in the plan. Still, I nodded once in acknowledgment.

"However, for what it's worth," he went on, more of his worry coming through in his expression, "I will do my best to try to find that vent. And...tell Miss Eva I said good luck to her as well."

I offered him a smile and another nod. Good old Gerard. For all he was only human, I couldn't think of a time he hadn't come through for me. After a brief moment, he too disappeared into the foliage and vanished, leaving only Rook and I to converse until the doctor returned.

"Well, this is just _peachy_." My young friend muttered. "If we get outta here, I'm gonna kill her."

"Who?" I prompted.

"The vampire who Turned me in the first place." He replied. "If it weren't for her, _none_ of us would be here waiting for whatever the hell Dorian's gonna do...because if she hadn't Turned me, I would need those damn pills."

That was a relief to hear; I'd worried he had been referring to Eva. Still, my mind kept wandering to a very different woman, and I absently wondered how she was doing. Was she having coffee and reading right now? Was she asleep? Was she up late and chatting on the phone with friends?

Alright, perhaps it wasn't such an absent train of thought. I had difficulty in trying to get Jeanette out of my head, she was just too fascinating and intriguing. I wanted to get to know her more, to find out what sort of activities she enjoyed, to see if she would be willing to go out to dinner sometime...Granted, it was easier to focus on the situation at hand, but I still couldn't dismiss her from my thoughts.

"Lance? Lance!"

"Hmm? Sorry, what?" I asked, nearly jumping out of my skin when I realized Rook was addressing me.

"Lance, you big twat." He muttered, smiling sadly. "We'll get out of here. You'll see her again."

I froze, my spine going rigid, and I averted my gaze, turning my mouth down in the best attempt I could muster at a sour scowl.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

He grinned in that bedamned knowing way of his, and before he could make a remark, the door to the atrium opened with a deafening bang, and Dorian strode in, cane nestled in the crook of his arm, glint of triumph glittering in his eye, and his typical stride of arrogance in place. I opened my mouth to speak, bracing myself for our plan to fall into place...

"Where are Miss Eva and Mister Montaine?" Dorian asked immediately, tone cool and even as he adjusted the lapels on his cuffs.

"Toilet break, Dorian," Rook said quickly, "People gotta pee sometimes, you know."

"The likelihood of the two of them both needing to use restroom facilities at the exact same time is miniscule, Robert. Do not presume to mock my intelligence." He shot back calmly. "Tell them both to abandon this idiotic plan you've devised, or I'll gas your enclosures."

My heart leapt into my throat and Rook seemed to go paler than normal.

"Father!" Tygrus roared, surging to his feet and slamming his massive paw-hands against the Plexiglas. "Don't do this!"

"And it is rebellious outbursts like that," Dorian added, gaze drifting past me to Tygrus, "Why you're encaged, dear Tygrus."

A snarl built in my throat, and caught Dorian's attention.

"You have thirty seconds to recall the others, Lancelot." He said, expression never changing. "I'm sure you can tell I'm not bluffing in this matter."

I ground my teeth in frustration. I knew Dorian, and he _wasn't _bluffing, damn him. More than ever, I understood Eva's urge to transform and attempt to break free through force. Subconsciously I felt the pull to do so, to set the wolf lurking below the surface loose.

"Fifteen seconds, Lancelot. Are you really going to bring this down upon all of you for the sake of stubborn rigidity?"

The seconds ticked by too fast for my liking. I figured we had about five seconds left when, without warning, a loud ringing sound started up that assaulted my ears and had me flinching in pain. Was that an alarm system?

"Garth!" Dorian shouted back through the door, eyes going wide in a rare show of panic, "What in God's name is going on?!"

"Doc!" Garth shouted back, dashing into the room, gasping for breath, "We got us some intruders!"


	17. Chapter 17: Of Men And Of Monsters

**A/N: Yet again, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first. (If you don't know my dA username, it's Yoruhoshi.) R&R please!**

* * *

Chapter 17: Of Men And Of Monsters

[Jeanette's POV:]

There was only one spot on the beach we could immediately tell was ideal for making berth, and Croc ran us ashore with such little grace I felt certain I would upheave my stomach all over the floorboards of our ferry. The sudden, jostling bounce of the vessel knocked me off-balance and I would have fallen, had I not been gripping a pipe overhead. The whole thing was incredibly amusing to Vic, who had been moping sourly in a corner after he came to. Clearly he wasn't about to let go of having been knocked out with a book any time soon.

That thought put me in mind of another, more dangerous individual that held the same grudge against me, and my entire body went cold. I had been able to keep Joker out of my thoughts for a time, but I couldn't forget what had happened at Arkham. It was the stuff of nightmares, and I had not rested easy since that day. The black wolf had appeared in my backyard a few more times, and its presence had given me some comfort, but that had done very little for my abused sleep patterns. Truthfully, I had become paranoid, terrified, caged by my own fear.

"Come on," Croc's voice brought me sharply out of my own pondering, and I blinked, surprised to see him offering me a webbed hand.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, tentatively following him to the edge railing.

"Hop on mah back, _chere_, and we'll jump down." He explained, and I caught Sam leaping onto the beach out of the corner of my eye. My mouth twisted in a mirthless way as I grabbed Killer Croc's hand and shakily clambered onto his back with all the grace and coordination of a drunk chimpanzee. I was uncertain how the reptilian man would respond, but I was entertaining the fantasy of telling the Joker that _the_ Killer Croc was one of my friends in bizarre places. What would the Clown Prince of Crime think _then_?

"Yah alright, Miss Harker?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Croc. Simply musing about what it must be like to be _dangerous_."

His scaly head twisted on his shoulders, and a half-lidded yellow eye gave me a flat stare.

"Y'all crazy." He remarked coolly before launching off his feet and into the air. My stomach made a brief visit to the location of my throat, then was abruptly slammed back into its proper spot on impact with the ground, and I bounced slightly as Croc landed. A few soft thumps behind us indicated Vic and Freddie were right behind us, and I slid off Croc's back, relieved when my feet touched the sand.

"Land!" I exhaled, "Beautiful solid _land_! Oh, I'll never take you for granted _again_!"

"Hmph. She's too soft for this mission, Boss Croc," Vic snorted, "She doesn't have sea legs, even."

"Vic," Croc replied, "Shuddup."

I tossed him a smug grin and wobbly followed the reptilian rogue as he began trekking up the shore and further inland. After a moment's pause, the three stooges followed behind me, armed and wary as the beach led up and into a dense, lush forest. Soft, low animal noises soon reached my ears as we blazed a trail through dense scrub and underbrush, and a flickering of the dim moonlight indicated clouds moving overhead. For all it was far from silent, there was a strangely calm sense in this island forest, the sort of peaceful stillness I could expect from a wildlife sanctuary. Of course, my romanticized view of the place wasn't shared by the henchmen, who I caught glimpses of when they crashed around loudly, either swatting at bugs or jumping at imagined threats.

"Y'all make more ruckus than a 'gator at Mardi Gras," Croc growled at one point, "Pipe down!"

"S-sorry, sir!" Freddie answered, swallowing nervously, his gun rattling as he shook violently with fear. "Th-this p-place really g-gives me the creeps."

"Don't worry, boys," he responded a tad gentler, "Ya ain't got a thang to worry 'bout so long as ya stay with me."

Like children they formed a chain, each grabbing a fistful of one anothers' shirts, save for Sam, who respectfully kept his hands off my person. He did, however, keep right on my heels the entire time, and I had to pick up the pace to avoid being trodden on. Croc looked over his shoulder at us once or twice, and muttered something about ducklings in a row. I refrained from commenting. The trail he cleared took us right toward the heart of the island, and soon, the further inward we went, the more we found signs the place was inhabited, such as signposts directing toward a main trail and a couple of bridges at random intervals. The three stooges made an attempt to get on the main path, but Croc lifted his head and sniffed like a hound before leading us in a completely different direction.

"But boss!" Vic protested. "The main trail-"

"Use ya head!" He snapped. "That path probably's gotta buncha hidden cameras watchin' it. 'Sides, I'm pickin' up a whiff o' fumes. Smells like a jet exhaust engine. We goin' this way."

I looked at him in surprise; I had been ready to agree with the point of cameras monitoring the path, but I could not smell anything remotely like exhaust fumes. How sharp were his saurian senses? After a second of wondering, I quickened my pace to keep level with him.

"Mr. Croc-"

"Waylon." He mumbled.

"Waylon?" I echoed, puzzled.

"'S'my name." He whispered. "Real one, anyway. Don't think you can go usin' it right now; I'd just like ya t'know."

"R-right then," I said, taken aback by this strange admission, "You said you can smell the exhaust fumes of a _jet_?"

"Yeah," he confirmed with a low nod, "Been off for a while, but the fumes got a way of lingerin'."

"And why are we heading towards the fumes?"

"If they's a jet, we might find us a hidden entrance, _chere_."

I let out a low whistle. "Color me impressed, Croc." I said, tossing him what I hoped was a look of approval. He responded by shooting back a grin. The trees started to thin out before long and after a handful of minutes, I spotted a glint of metal in the moonlight ahead. Even from a distance, it was difficult to mistake; Croc had found the jet. We picked up the pace, coming to an end of the trees to a space that had been cleared as a landing strip for just such a plane. The three henchmen immediately broke into whispering, and Croc made some remark as he began to stalk toward the jet's nose, but a logo on the side of the plane caught my eye. The initials "DBI" meant nothing to me, but the name of "Pendragon" printed in large blue letters certainly did.

My mind began to reel at the implication, and I had address my newfound rogue friend to make sure I wasn't finally losing my mind.

"Croc? Do you know who owns this plane?"

He paused in mid-stride, blinked, and scanned the logo before scowling. I felt my heart leap into my throat. Not Lancelot Pendragon. Surely not him! He was so handsome, so charming and kind...surely he couldn't be involved in having kidnapped a woman and brought her here...?

"Yeah," Waylon remarked finally with an irritated grunt, "Lance Pendragon. Nice guy; he was able t' help Eva out last week when she was in bad shape. But the guy that owns this island got Lance undeh his boot. Tried blackmailin' him and Eva, _both_. Looks like he's makin' good on it, too."

I swallowed hard over a lump I hadn't realized had formed in my throat, clenched my hands, and tried to consider the matter and hand and where it was leading. This Eva had been kidnapped or brought here, and apparently she wasn't the only one. Lance Pendragon was also being blackmailed by the same man responsible for all this. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to me. Had Mr. Pendragon _known_ Eva was a werewolf? Had he met her prior? Was that why he had reacted so vehemently to my reading those werewolf novels, and the rest he had said was merely a cover-up, to throw me off?

I wanted some answers.

"Looks like everything around here's clear, Boss Croc." Sam declared as he, Vic and Freddie returned from a quick sweep around the perimeter of the jet.

"Nice work, boys." He gave them an approving, toothy grin. "This way."

I worked my jaw slowly, bringing up the rear behind the men, considering what to do...

* * *

The inside of the tunnel we found felt cold, cramped, and it set all our nerves on complete edge. While I cannot recall ever indulging in certain horror novels, I remain positive to this day that tunnel could have very well been the inspirational setting for many a thriller novel. Or else, it was deliberately based upon such writings so as to discourage the curious and thoughtless from foolishly venturing deeper within.

The notion did not bolster my faith in our little rag-tag team in the slightest. The tunnel was short enough, but it ended in a towering wall, with a single, small door off to the west wall, cut deep into the earth of the island. One by one we squeezed inside, and began to make our way through a confusing maze of halls, seeking out any sign of a main room, or at least some place with a higher ceiling; Croc did not take well to barely having elbow room. To make matters worse, the moment we opened a set of double doors under a sign labeled "Enclosure Sector 8," a high-pitched, tinny ringing started up somewhere further off, and it grew irksome quickly.

"Agh, we set off the alarm system!" Freddie grumbled, wincing against the noise. Croc grunted in response; after all, there was little to be done for it now. The enclosure seemed to encase more jungle area that had been cleared out to a degree, and was full of crumbling, half-built structures that you might expect to see in South American ruins. A sudden, strong smell filled my nose, and I didn't require super-human senses to recognize it.

"Oh, sweet Hemingway!" I croaked, hand flying up to cover my lower face. "Cats!"

"Ugh..." Vic groaned, pinching his own nose, "Smells like someone's not cleaned the litterbox in about ten years."

We spent several minutes wandering the enclosure, trying to locate a different exit, the shrill alarm still ringing somewhere in the distance. Sam finally found the exit on the farthest end of the enclosure, hidden in a small corner. But as we made our way toward it, we were met with a less-than-pleasant surprise, and I had to bite down on a scream.

There was a figure, not quite a man, but more than an ape, guarding the door, and he was hefting a long-barreled shotgun in his hands, preparing to aim for any of us.

"Oh, no ya don't," the ape-man grunted in barely discernible English, "You ain't goin' nowhere. The Doc ain't gunna be real friendly to a buncha trespassers."

Good lord, his grammar was appalling to the point I was having waking nightmares.

"You thank that li'l BB gun is goin' to scare us?" Croc snorted, leaning forward, probably preparing to charge.

"I think 'nuff tranquilizer darts'll drop yuh." The ape-man said confidently. "Unless you come with me t' the Doc's lab nice an' quiet."

A low, dangerous growl built in Croc's throat, and my mind raced as I seized his forearm to get his attention.

"Maybe we should do as he says," I whispered, "We might have a better chance of finding your friend."

His yellow eyes flicked to me briefly, and slowly his growl died away as he straightened his posture, glaring at the ape-man with distaste. Reluctantly, he held up his hands to show his surrender, and with a good deal of griping, his three men stowed away their guns and followed suit. I was half-expecting the ape-man to force them to drop all their weapons, but he wasn't showing himself to be the sharpest tool in the shed, and merely ushered us under the threat of the tranquilizer gun out of the enclosure, and led us deeper into the heart of the huge building. We passed through two more major hallways before he indicated a door and ordered us to halt. He shuffled along, keeping a wary eye turned on us all before he opened the door and pushed it inward, grunting in a way to show we were to step inside.

"Found 'em, Doc." He announced in a half-growl.

The room seemed to be a low-ceilinged hallway between several small enclosures, the sort that belonged in a zoo. To the right, in a sparse, grassy area behind thick glass walls, were two men. One of them, a taller man with a shapely, almost-feminine chin and long, wavy blonde hair pulled back in a horsetail, was unfamiliar, but his companion wasn't. It took me only the briefest of glances to recognize the filthy, unwashed young man with the black-and-white checkerboard patterns in his hair and clothes. He was the fellow Lancelot Pendragon had sent to the library to deliver me flowers! What was his name? Rook?

A strangled, heart-broken noise from the left enclosure drew my attention and my breath caught in my throat. There stood a disheveled, pale-faced Lancelot Pendragon, accompanied by a shorter woman in torn, tattered street clothes with long, wild brown hair and bright, furious eyes. I wasn't certain I could put my finger on how it all fit together, but she looked absolutely feral. Of course, if she was Croc's werewolf friend, that was fitting.

"Ahh, well done, Garth. Now if you please, do leave us alone."

The smooth, elegant English-accented voice came from the older man in the room, standing perfectly between the opposite glass walls of the different enclosures. He was roughly Lance's height, with graying red hair and a weathered face that had something of a feline tilt to the angular wrinkles time had carved into his features. A long, thin cane was dangling from the crook of his folded arms, but despite this, he stood straight and tall, and radiated authority.

"B-but-" The ape-man stuttered in protest, throwing a significant look in Croc's direction, but the Englishman silenced him him with a calm, even look.

"You worry too much, Garth." He said smoothly. "But very well; if you're so anxious about my well-being, you may stay. But keep away for the time being. You have a way of putting off my guests."

"Kidnappin' is off-puttin' enough as it is." Croc snarled, his entire body tensing as he whipped about to look at the wild woman in the enclosure with Lance. "Eva..."

"Ahh, yes, Mr. Waylon Jones," the Englishman drawled, a cold smile creeping over his features, ignoring the reptilian sneer, "I haven't forgotten that you were initially against Miss Eva's coming here for further treatments against her silver poisoning, let alone joining her that I could...get to know you better."

"Whadd've ya been doin' to her?" He demanded.

"Hardly anything, yet." The scientist replied calmly. "In fact, your arrival here has prevented my beginning the experiment."

I shifted uneasily, glancing at the furious werewolf woman behind the glass, her bright yellow wolf eyes darting around at us all. My suspicions were beginning to creep up on me again. If Mr. Pendragon was in there with her...

"What experiment?" Croc growled. Luckily, the Englishman's voice seemed to be hypnotic enough that everyone was focused on him, and he was focused on my saurian acquaintance. I took the opportunity and snuck closer to Freddie, carefully reaching out toward the holster on his belt.

"Breeding, of course!" The man spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Breeding?!" Rook suddenly spoke up from behind the glass of his enclosure, and his voice held a note of shocked horror. I also froze, listening to him. "_That's _what all this bullshit has been about? Dorian, you're insane!"

The man's name was Dorian? I barely registered it, following multiple gazes back to where Lance and Eva stood on the other side of a wall of glass, both looking equally outraged and disgusted. A revelation I didn't want to believe was taking place in my head, the very one I'd been trying for the past several minutes to avoid thinking about. If my hunch was right, then Lance...Lance was...

"BREEDIN'?!" Croc roared, flinching back for a second before making a wild lunge for Doctor Dorian. "I'LL KILL YA!"

A shot was fired, and something bit into the floor in front of him, stopping him short.

"You try t' hurt the Doc again, I'm shootin' at yer head." Garth declared simply, giving the barrel of his tranquilizer gun a fond pat. Croc growled at him and stepped back with what appeared to be a great deal of effort. Dorian, for his part, seemed completely unfazed.

"Of course," he said brightly, "This sort of opportunity is one that many respected individuals in my field of biogenetic research would kill to have. Can you imagine if a genetically engineered werewolf can mate with a wild, fully-bred true werewolf?" He turned and glanced at Eva as though he was hoping to placate her with his smile and honey-coated suggestions. "The population of your species would soar again, my dear. The North American werewolves would no longer be dwindling, let alone endangered. Through successfully mating with Lancelot, you will contribute a greater work to your entire race than many war heroes have done for entire countries."

That was it. I couldn't take it any more.

I moved, barely stopping to think about what I was doing, and I surged forward past Croc and seized Dorian by his shirt collar, cutting off whatever he was saying.

"You! You're a great, beastly coward of a man, forcing your will and god-complex on those less fortunate simply because no one objects to a word you say!" I snarled. His eyes opened wide, and for a moment, I wondered if anyone had ever stood up to him before. But witnessing all this, the way that everyone seemed to just completely clam up when he began talking, how was it not the case? "Well sir, I object. I will not tolerate this ghastly experiment of yours!"

I lifted it then, the gun I had swiped from Freddie, and he let out a delayed yelp of shock when he realized what I was holding. The weight felt cold and utterly wrong in my hand. Never in my life have I ever even wanted to touch a gun.

But...I had to do something.

Mind racing, I recalled my cousin. Catriona had made me sit through countless episodes of Xena, because she absolutely idolized the warrior princess. I was nothing like Xena...but that didn't mean I was unable to learn a trick or two from her.

I pushed the gun to Dorian's temple, and forced my arms to keep from shaking with the terror I felt. My heart was hammering in my chest, probably breaking some record of beats per minute, and my body started to break out in a cold sweat. Was I actually going to do this? One mistake and my life would be utterly changed for the worst forever.

I just prayed I was better at bluffing than I thought.

"Now." My voice, much to my relief, came out sounding much more calm and collected than I felt. "You will release Mr. Pendragon, Mr. Greene, and Miss Eva into our custody. You will not pull any tricks on us or manipulate the circumstances of their release in any way that works to your advantage. There are to be no strings attached in any way."

"Surely you're joking, my dear." Dorian laughed, but something flickered in his eyes, and I had to fight to keep my features even. I was gaining the upper hand, and he was starting to panic, to give into his fear. I decided to try to push my bluff a bit further.

"Having come to know the sort of man you are, Dorian," I replied as calmly as I could manage, "I consider you less than human. And trust me, that means I have no qualms about pulling this trigger. Killing a worm is not the same as killing a man."

Dorian fell silent, staring at me in silence for a long moment that stretched on and on, until the tension in the air was as thick as swamp water. And then, to the side, I caught something Eva was saying in a tone of questioning doubt.

"I thought you said this woman of yours was a librarian."

I heard Lance sigh in response. "She is."

I fought to keep my rage in check. So I was 'his woman' now, was I? And yet he could not even bother to mention the fact he was a werewolf?

No, no. I had to concentrate! I couldn't allow myself to waver for a moment. I raised my eyebrows at Dorian.

"So..." I asked, "What is it going to be?"


End file.
